There Is A Time For Everything
by Ildera
Summary: The grey dusk light hung heavy over Rivendell, cloaking the Halfelven home in soft mist that leant a ghostly sheen to the buildings around her as she remembered what once was and what would soon be ...
1. A Time To Uproot

Hello again! It's been a while I know, but hey, I've been working hard here! Anywho, the idea behind this story goes like this … I read somewhere that a peaceful Middle-earth was what Tolkien said he'd like Europe to be like in the future, and my imagination took the idea and ran with it. I know the timeline is not exactly accurate, and occasionally all over the place, but I really enjoyed writing this one, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. I'm waffling, aren't I? I'll get on with it.

As usual, nothing Tolkien-esque belongs to me, although I AM very attached to my two leads (no nicking without permission – not that you'd want to – oh my God, I'm off again). Sue me and you'll get maybe an NHS uniform … although technically, not even that belongs to me, although I am responsible for it's upkeep.

Now, are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin …

* * *

**There Is A Time For Everything

* * *

**

Chapter One – A Time to Be Silent

The grey dusk light hung heavy over Rivendell, cloaking the Half-elven home in soft mist that leant a ghostly sheen to the buildings around her. She sat on one of the many balconies, wrapped up in her cloak against the chill of the evening, and listening to the sounds of the feast in the great hall below, staring into the misty darkness. There were few who would dare to disturb her when she was in such a mood, and even then, only for such things that required her immediate attention. It was a strange thought, at least to her, that a woman once hated by those she had called friend could command such respect and obedience from people who knew her as a legend, a walking symbol of what had once been right with their world.

She could see the horses of the council tethered far below her, the sleepy late-night ministrations of the elves that had taken charge of them, even the disgust on the face of the one who had been volunteered to tend the dwarves' pack animals. A faint, bitter smile curved her lips. Once again, racial differences had led to this disillusionment between races, a resentment that could easily become the hate she had endured many times before. And yet, these races made a point of differentiating between the Elves and Dwarves who simply were, and those that had made a difference in their world, those whose names were known throughout Middle-earth.

No Dwarf would speak out against Galadriel, for example, but many thought nothing of insulting any Elves they happened to meet. And the same was for Elves; they would not speak badly of Thorin Oakenshield, but found great sport in taunting other Dwarves who crossed their path. In one awful episode that they had been unable to prevent, Elves had imprisoned Dwarves for no reason other than being found in their kingdom. However, she and others had had words with the king involved, and knew that he would not cross them again.

That thought brought her back to the mystery of herself, how calm words spoken in a firm tone could incite obedience from even a king. How did she become a figure to be respected and listened to? She would be the first to admit that she had a great deal of experience in this world, more than twenty thousand years worth, but even so, some small part of her, the part that was still a frightened young woman feeling out of place in the world, could not fathom the command she had about her now. It was as if being herself had made her who she was, and yet, she herself was not entirely sure of whom she was, even now.

Even her name had changed over the years, something so entirely hers as to be immovable had altered to fit with the times as the world aged around them and time carried them with it to these most important few years. One name had stayed with her over the years, and was the signet she answered to when spoken by most. Laurè, the warrior elf-maid, as she was known, and yet, had been given other names as each age passed. Mistress Fleetfoot, the hobbits had called her; the dwarves had taken Windsinger as their name for her; both names that tried in some way to explain her way of travelling from place to place, touching as much as she dared to see it done its right and proper way.

She even bore a named sword, Angùrei, forged by the elven-smiths of Eregion before their corruption by Sauron. The blade sang as he cut through the air, earning her many other names as she fought alongside Elves and Men. But even so, there was another name, far back in the distant reaches of time, haunting her memory with its vagueness. Perhaps she had forgotten it, should have forgotten it long ago, but no, it was still there, taunting her with memories of how she had come to be here, in this time, and the burden she had placed on herself with the turning of the years.

Her name … her name had been unusual among others, difficult to pronounce, harder to spell, and easily confused with others. She could remember the confusion on people's faces when she tried to tell them her name; when they asked her to spell it for them, only to become even more confused by it. To remember it was to remember an ancient language, already close to death when she had been born, yet she was named from it by parents who by turns were proud and disgusted by their heritage from it.

'Ah, yes . . .' she breathed, hearing her long-forgotten name echoing about her mind. 'My name . . .'

Niamh, that had been it. Her first name, the one she was given from birth, the one that should never be forgotten. The name that reminded her of the time before, when none of that which surrounded her was real, only a story, and humanity was something people tried hard to show, and rarely managed it. When there were such technological nightmares as cars and tower blocks, and the sunlight was blotted out by smoke and fire and tall, tall buildings where people lived, cramped and unhappy. When nature was something that was thought about often, tended rarely, seen as a novelty, something to admire but have nothing to do with for fear touching it would cause it to disappear forever. When people had been so afraid of their own shadows, it had taken one small change for the world to turn upside down around them. She could remember it so clearly, the hurt and the fear, when the world they knew had changed around them, and people you had known all your life were suddenly different.

The shouts and jeers had been almost more than she could bear. Wrapping a protective arm around a frightened child's shoulders, she had stared resolutely ahead to where the mass of silent people were headed; a long dark road that wound through an uninviting forest leading them to a place where, perhaps, they would be accepted, maybe even welcomed. That thought had done much to cheer the twenty or so travellers, though no one could quite ignore the mob watching them leave, nor the soldiers escorting them under armed guard from the city. Even here, in a city so cosmopolitan as this one, they were considered too strange, too different.

The jeering crowd had been littered with faces she knew, people she had once called friend; faces that were strained in grimaces of anger, mockery, and pity. The loyalty of friendship could only be pushed so far, she knew then. Even her closest companions had not been able to hide their fear and disgust when she had been revealed as one of 'them'. The sense of belonging she had felt all her life had all but vanished when that hated list had been published.

Only one person, one true friend had remained loyal to the last, staunchly defending her to those who would see her harried and hunted. This friend had endured isolation and mockery, even violence, to remain true to his first instinct – that of staying close and unafraid of the friend he had known for years. There had been many more like him, brave and unintimidated, made outcast because of their defence of those who were different. But even they had not been enough to prevent that forced exodus of people.

She had seen her only friend pushing through the crowd, keeping pace with her as she made her slow way out of the city that had been her home for so many years. Despite the anger and malevolence of the crowd around them, he had seemed determined to see them off with a smile. And a welcome smile it was, returned by many of the refugees who saw it. But of course, because of this, she had watched her friend beaten back by the crowd, scolded for showing kindness to those who were being pushed away by society.

The child had huddled closer, half hidden beneath her protective arm, his eyes on his mother where she walked ahead of them, baby daughter held close in her arms. Even the smallest child among them had been made aware of the differences between them and those who considered themselves normal. Perhaps if the difference had been more insubstantial, less visible, they would have been able to stay, but no, no one wanted to share their town with the freaks who had suddenly acquired what had been obsequiously termed, physical abnormalities.

It had signalled the start of what the masses had deemed The Change. Slowly, quietly, people had begun to notice certain differences about themselves. A sudden loss of weight, or a growth spurt; these were hardly commented on when compared to an eighty year old man regaining the appearance and vigour of his youth, seemingly overnight. He had been hailed as a modern miracle, exclaimed over by experts throughout the world, until other, similar cases started coming to light. There were others, too, not so similar. A family in the highlands reportedly awoke one morning to find themselves all less than three feet in height, perfectly proportioned apart from abnormally large feet. Men and even women who were growing beards and muscles that no amount of shaving or activity could alter.

And here, in this bustling region, people had begun to notice slight but irrevocable changes in themselves. It seemed that every other person had acquired a noble, almost Roman, profile. People who had previously been plump or overweight were proud to display slender, toned figures that had apparently taken no work to obtain. And everywhere the fashion seemed to be for long hair worn forward, framing the face, or for hats to be pulled down, low over the forehead. It had been a mystery as to why, until a newspaper had published a photograph that explained all. It was of a teenage girl, slim and pretty, with long blonde hair that fell straight over her shoulders. In an unguarded moment, she had brushed that hair back off her face, inadvertently revealing the pointed tip of her ear.

The outcry this picture had caused was matched only by the sudden solidarity of everyone who had gained this 'physical abnormality'. Everywhere you looked, you would see someone proudly displaying pointed ears, hair pulled back to show them off with blatant carelessness. It hadn't seemed to have any pattern at all. Sometimes whole families might change, or perhaps only one or two people from a family might change, the others remaining Men. In the whole city, there were only around thirty of these new people. They were quickly given the name of elves, and were, for a time, made to feel supported and welcomed. But people had soon succumbed to resentment at the seeming physical flawlessness of these Elves, and began to ostracise them. This isolation had turned to full blown anger very quickly, and had ultimately led to people turned from their homes and forced away from the places they had known all their lives, scorned by those who had once declared themselves Elf-friends.

But it wasn't just people that had changed. The land around them had begun to reshape itself, whole areas changing overnight with nothing to warn its inhabitants of what they would wake up to. Nature seemed to be taking over. Whole industrialised areas had disappeared, becoming forests and lakes, and wide-open countryside. Houses became smaller, Tudor style cottages or houses, each with a small plot of land. Roads lost their tarmac, becoming dirt tracks.

And the impact on the technological side of things had been devastating. Electrical goods ceased to function. Modern building materials had turned to wattle and daub, or stone, supported by timber frames. Car owners woke up to find themselves the proud possessor of a horse or two, and occasionally a cart as well. There was no longer any transport between countries, no goods coming in or going out. For the first time in centuries, their little island was completely cut off, alone, to deal with the problems The Change had caused.

She could remember when that city had been all looming concrete buildings and roads packed with cars, filled with choking smoke. Now it was a dismal collection of timber-framed houses and inns, set along muddy streets where horses were tethered at regular intervals. The only smoke that drifted through the air now was that of cooking fires. A dismal town to match its gloomy inhabitants, she had thought at the time, and had wondered how she had missed that aspect of these people's personalities before The Change. It was strange how such a cosmopolitan community had allowed fear and confusion to change it so radically. They hadn't seemed to realise that the same fear and confusion flowed through the new so-called races of Elves, Hobbits and Dwarves.

Her own change had been a huge shock, startling in it's suddenness. She had been working graveyard shifts, battling off an illness, when one night she had been sent home, too unwell to work. She had walked though one of the few remaining modern streets, and had received the fright of her life when the world around her seemed to shift and move, reshaping itself around her. The busy city street had become a bustling mess of wild-eyed horses, terrified drivers, muddy tracks and little timber houses overhanging the confusion. And amidst all this, she had felt her head begin to spin, falling to the mud as she fought to maintain consciousness. Slowly, the feeling had passed, abating enough for her to push herself back to her feet. She had lifted a hand to brush her hair from her face, and had frozen in shock to feel the unfamiliar pointed tip of her ear.

Ignoring the confusion around her, she had run home, slamming open the door and stumbling to the mirror, pulling her hair back to stare in open-mouthed horror at her ears. She hadn't been able to see clearly, taking off her glasses to clean them, and had frozen once more as the world came into focus without the lenses that had been her only chance of clear sight for years. She lifted her eyes to the mirror, and then came the second shock. Her shoulder length red curls had changed as well, now falling in pale blonde waves down her back; blue eyes looked back at her where once they had been stormy grey. Her freckles had gone, the roundness of her face was smoothed and slim, as was the roundness of her body. She was an Elf. Her housemate had appeared at the top of the stairs, and one look at her had told her that she, too, had gone through this terrifying alteration. They had stared at one another, and as one, fell into a hug that had more to do with clinging on for dear life than any affection.

She had lost her job shortly after, understanding implicitly how hard it was for her colleagues to watch her thrown out, but also how afraid they were that the same could happen to them if they tried to prevent it. Only one, the friend who had stood by her throughout it all, left when she did, publicly throwing down the gauntlet to the managers of their workplace and walking out by her side. It might almost have been funny if it hadn't been so upsetting. It had hurt, to leave him behind, knowing that he would endure a deal more torment because of his part in their friendship, but he had told her not to worry about him, that he would be alright; that he would look after her family while she was gone. Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered the morning she had said goodbye to those who had stood up for her when all other friends had melted away …

* * *

There was a chill bite in the air that morning, belying the sun rising swiftly in the east to warm the changing earth around them. The family had gathered around her, knowing that she had to go, but hating the circumstances that made it inevitable. Her pack lay beside her on the grass as she turned to bid farewell to the family she knew she might never see again. Her father had seemed surprisingly composed until she looked into his eyes and saw the muted pain that was there, the agony at having to send his youngest child away from his care or watch her slowly torn apart by those they called neighbour. He embraced her, frightened to speak in case his grief showed and made it harder for her to leave them.

One by one, they bid farewell to their baby sister, to their aunt, to their sister-in-law, their daughter. She could not hide the tears that spilled freely down her cheeks as she embraced each of them, hating every minute of this painful goodbye. Her sister gripped her shoulders, forcing a smile through the tears threatening to break through.

'If I hear you've gone and got yourself killed, I shall be most upset with you,' she half-heartedly joked, pulling her little sister into her arms once more. 'You take care of yourself, right?'

Niamh nodded, clinging to her tightly.

'Promise,' she murmured, her breath catching as she forced away the tears.

She knelt to say goodbye to her sister's children, feeling another part of her heart rip as they threw themselves into her arms, sobbing wildly. She held them close for a few moments, kissing their hair as they cried into her tunic.

'I d-don't want you to g-go,' the youngest wailed, pulling back to hiccup a frown for her aunt.

Niamh smiled faintly, stroking the wild blonde strands of hair from her niece's face.

'I have to,' she said softly. 'If I stay, things will only get harder for us, and I don't want to be the reason for that.'

The boy drew in a deep, shuddering breath, looking up at her through tear-swollen eyes.

'I'll miss you, Aunty Niamh,' he said softly, hugging her quickly once more.

'I know, I'll miss you too,' she managed, feeling her lip start to quiver with the effort of holding back the tears. 'But I need you to take care of everyone for me, okay? Especially Granddad, he's going to need someone to look after him. Do you think you can do that for me?'

He nodded, taking his little sister's hand from their aunt and letting her stand up. She let her gaze travel over the faces of her family, trying to commit them to memory before she had to let them go. She was acutely aware of a friend, waiting by the gate to walk her down to the meeting place, and knew that she had at least one more hard goodbye to manage before they let her go.

With a final, fleeting smile for her family, she turned away, hefting her pack onto her back and moving to join her friend where he waited for her. Don't look back, she told herself; you'll only make it harder on yourself. But look back she did, at the bend in the road, allowing herself one last glimpse of the people who had raised her, sheltered her, and loved her, her whole life, and who now would have to face the terror of The Change without her.

The tears broke free then, and flowed freely, wracking her body with sobs that seemed to come from deep inside her. Her friend held her, as if simply being there could hold off the pain and heartache until a time when it could be felt without hardship or hurt. His grip never shifted or faltered, letting her cling to him as long as she needed to. As the tears stopped, he lifted her chin gently, smiling sadly down into her eyes.

'You take care of yourself,' he said softly, holding her gaze as she looked up at him. 'Don't forget us.'

'I will never forget you,' she promised, hugging him close. 'Look after them for me.'

He smiled against her hair, squeezing her tight.

'For as long as I am able, I will,' he breathed, pulling back suddenly and glancing down the road to smile at another who was waiting for her. 'And I can be glad that you are not alone.'

Niamh looked to where he was smiling, and saw Ria, her housemate, who had endured the changes and consequences along with her. She couldn't help but feel relieved that she would not have to make this journey by herself, finally admitting that she was as afraid as everyone else. Breathing deeply of the springtime air, she left her friend by the roadside, moving to join Ria, and all those who were leaving. This time, she didn't look back, and somehow he knew they would not meet again. He sighed quietly to himself, knowing he couldn't let her go without seeing a friendly smile to help her on her way, and began to push through the crowd.

Holding tight to Ria's hand, both girls gripping one another with the strength of fear, Niamh walked quietly, subdued by thoughts of home and family. She glanced back at where she had left him standing by the road, and was disturbed to find him gone. Perhaps she did not mean so much as she had thought, that he did not feel it was worth watching her go. But then, this part of her life was over now. She would have to make a new life, without family or friends, except those who went with her, to a place none of them had seen, or even knew existed.

* * *

The elf maiden sighed softly. How wrong she had been, she thought, to have thought so badly of him in those desperate moments before he appeared once more. Through the years that followed, through the hardship and the famines, he had never lost touch with her, though they had never again laid eyes on one another. Between his friendship, and Ria's, she had not grieved as much as she had thought, and found strength in her failings. But then, there had not been much time for grief, as she recalled.

They had come upon an abandoned settlement, deep within the forest, far enough away from the Men of their new world to remain undiscovered, and they had decided to settle there, each discovering a new skill they had not known was theirs until now. Over the next years, they had perfected the arts of smelting and forging, of war and peace, until they could exist as one people, living together. They took new names, not wishing to remember the pain of their parting whenever they spoke with one another, and slowly these new names became their own. New friendships were made; old ones made stronger, marriages and births came about as they always had. Other Elves from different parts of their old country had come to join them, building their numbers, until their whole race lived beneath the boughs of this ancient forest.

Through it all, she had grown closer to the she-elf they now called the Lady of the Wood, the friend who had lived with her both before and after The Change. Ria had not wished to change her name very much, and so she had christened herself Ríel in those early years, finding it easy to call on her closest companion as Laurèneial now they were far from anyone who might correct them. She had not been so cool and confidant then, nor so graceful. Laurè recalled with a smile how on one occasion she had managed to burn herself seven times on the fire whilst cooking the evening meal, and yet the food had turned out to be perfectly well done. Ríel had often joked that the only reason Elves seemed so demure was because they had to concentrate very hard on what they were doing at that moment, citing herself as an example of elvish clumsiness. They did almost everything together in those first years, cementing the bonds that had kept them close through everything that had gone before. That wasn't to say there hadn't been arguments, of course, but somehow they had weathered each storm of ego, pride and downright stubbornness to become closer than they would ever have thought possible.

When one of the older Elves offered to train the younger ones in swordplay, a skill he had learnt in fun in his youth, they had leapt at the chance, quickly becoming proficient, somehow knowing that this was a skill they would need as the ages turned. Once swordplay was done, archery became the skill they were taught, followed swiftly by axe-craft and dagger fighting. Each Elf who joined this little band pursued these skills until they could get no better, devoting themselves to these arts as though they were hobbies, nothing more. She remembered the lazy summer days, when there were no chores left to be done, no entertainment to be had until the sun had set, and they would test each other in mock-battles that could go on for hours.

Those had been good times, she remembered. Long empty days, filled with the joy of discovering how different you suddenly were, and yet how little you had really changed. Life-long friendship was borne out of those discoveries; they learnt tolerance and benevolence, slowly becoming a people that loved the peace and tranquillity of their forest life. They developed a love of music and poetry, a joy in such simple arts that few before had encountered, and grew to enjoy the sounds of nature that had frightened them before. They had hunted and played to their hearts' content, never knowing the dangers that were coming to face them.

She remembered with a shudder the first time the Ents had revealed themselves to her little community. The sight of a tree coming to life and talking to you was not something that was easily forgotten. Fangorn was his name, and the name had sparked a memory within her that she had not been able to trace. He had told them of the trees, and how they talked among themselves. He said this was how he had learnt of the Elves making their home within the forest, though it had taken him some time to get around to welcoming them. The trees were happy to have life within their shadow, he said, and wished to keep them safe for as long as they chose to live among them.


	2. A Time To Build

Chapter Two – A Time to Build

As the years passed, they had grown too numerous for the little village to hold them, and many had moved from Fangorn to settle in other, more isolated places. They had sent word back to this first of Elven homes of the new cities that were growing, hidden deep within forests that were much loved by their kind. They told of Greenwood, Doriath, and Lindon, and the realm of the Galadhrim, a group of the first Elves who had moved on and left their kin far behind them. There came news of Eregion, a new Elven stronghold, where the Elves lived alongside the Dwarves of Khazad-dum, crafting metals with great skill. There had been traffic between these new settlements and the first home of the Elves for the first few years, which quickly slipped away, each separate clan becoming a separate race within a race, with language and customs of their own that were almost too different to share.

The passage of time had not gone unmarked by many of them, and they were acutely aware that while they lived on, seeming never to change from each sunrise to sunset, others of their world were dying. It had been more than eight thousand years since they had fled the world of Men to take refuge within these forest walls, and in that time, everyone they had known or loved before had died, either of old age or disease. They had begun to venture out into the world, to seek news of their families, and to let those who lived on know that Elves were no fairytale, but true living creatures.

These travellers had returned with stories of how there was no sea between what had once been an island and the mainland now, and how the land had changed. They learned that they spoke a different language, their speech so different to that of Men and Dwarves that they were unrecognisable, and were forced to learn what was known as Westron, or Common. They also learned of the awful wars that had raged, and the darkness spreading from the east, a darkness that had not touched their peaceful home as it forced changes upon the rest of the world beyond their forest borders. The race of Man had spread across Arda, the Earth, making war and peace seemingly with equal enjoyment. The Dwarves had taken to the caves that littered the world, and were known as great smiths and armourers, selling and bartering their wares at markets and halls. Only one thing seemed to dampen the mood. There was no trace of the other race, the race of Hobbits; they seemed to have disappeared completely from the face of Arda. But there were kings and queens, lords and ladies, peasants and serfs. The world seemed to have returned to how it had been centuries before her birth.

Excited by the news they were hearing, Laurèneial and Ríel had decided to seek out the final resting places of their families, taking separate paths for the first time in over eight thousand years. She herself had travelled for a thousand years, living among the races of Man and Dwarf, learning their ways and customs, becoming known to them; following names she recognised from some distant part of her youth, trying hard to understand how she could possibly know these names, until, at last, she realised that she was hiding herself away from an awful truth she would have to face at some point in her long life. Laurè's eyes filled with unshed tears once more as her memory uncovered the years she had spent wandering Arda, searching for anyone who shared her blood, before finally returning to the town she had left long ago; the pain that was still there, like a wound that would never heal, from the moment she looked on the graves of her family …

* * *

The gateman looked startled when she asked entrance to the little town, unable to stop staring at her ears, and the quiet confidence with which she held herself. She glanced away, awkward under his curious gaze, and looked back, raising an eyebrow in enquiry. The Common speech still felt awkward on her tongue, despite hundreds of years of speaking it, but she hardly hesitated to put the words she wished to say into a language that was at once alien and familiar to her.

'May I enter?' she asked softly, a lilt in her voice from the years of speaking what was now known as Sindarin, the more common form of Elvish.

The gateman seemed to shake himself, jumping back to reality as she spoke.

'Oh, of course, lady, please,' he hastened to say, pulling open the gate for her to urge her horse through. 'Forgive me, lady, but … are you an Elf?'

She smiled gently back at him, seeing the eager surprise on his face that told her how make-believe these people thought her race was, and wondered if any of her people had ventured this way in the two thousand years since they had begun to spread.

'Yes, I am Elven,' she told him. 'My people dwell in the great forest many miles from here.'

The man's jaw dropped.

'Fangorn Forest?' he gasped. 'But that's a haunted place, filled with spirits, they say.'

She laughed, a light sound that fell like music on his ears.

'I think you will find that those spirits are as real as me, and indeed, are my kin,' she reassured him. 'Those woods are not haunted, but they do live and breathe alongside us. The trees are our friends; they shelter and protect us, as we protect them.'

The man nodded slowly, as though trying to weigh this up against the myths he had heard. Then he seemed to dismiss it altogether.

'Might I ask your business in our town, my lady?' he inquired politely.

The smile fell from her face and she looked away, down the muddy streets that she remembered only vaguely.

'I have some unfinished business with those I once knew,' she murmured, the pain of heartache sounding clear in her voice.

The gateman's face twisted in sympathy, though he could not know of what she spoke. And indeed, his surprise showed when she asked a question of her own.

'Tell me, where is the graveyard?'

'My lady, why should you want to go there?' he asked, curiosity getting in the way of manners. 'You will find nothing there but memories of a world long since gone.'

She sighed softly.

'I know,' she breathed, 'but I must go. It has been a long time since I entered these walls. I had friends here that I need to let go.'

The man's eyes widened.

'Might I ask how long since you were last here?' he asked timidly, as if finally aware of the rudeness of his question.

'Close to ten thousand years, sir,' she told him, smiling ruefully at the look of horror on his face.

'So it is true,' he said in a harsh whisper. 'The lives of Elves are everlasting, and their youthful looks never change. Lady, you look not a day over twenty! I can scarcely believe that you have lived for so long.'

Her smile returned, her cheeks flushing a little under his admiring gaze.

'Thank you, sir, but it is quite true,' she assured him. 'Now, please … where is the town's graveyard?'

In quietly awed tones, he gave her directions, and she urged her horse onwards, through the muddy streets, ignoring the curious stares of the Men who walked around her. But it was not just Men in these streets, she noticed, seeing Dwarves mingle with them as they went about their daily business. Careful not to encroach upon anyone, she made her slow way through what had once been her home, trying hard not to let the memories overwhelm her. It seemed an age before she reached the graveyard, and longer again to find what she was looking for.

She stared for a long time at the familiar names, remembering the faces she had committed to memory on that hated day long ago. She wondered if they had ever managed to forget her as she had so longed for them to do, but knew in her heart that they could no more have forgotten her than she could forget them. The gravestones were old, pitted and weathered by rain and sun and cold snows, but not overgrown, as she had expected. Even now, so long since the death of those that lay beneath, they were tended with care, lovingly kept with fresh flowers.

Here they were, gathered together in death as they had been in life, her father, brother and sisters, and the families they had made for themselves. Her blood, lying cold beneath the earth, where nothing could hurt them ever again. And close by, still watching over them as he had promised, the friend she had left behind her on that day, his grave, and the graves of his descendants, as close to theirs as was conceivably possible. He had certainly never forgotten her. His letters still lay in her saddlebags, the last crumpled and stained with tears, the telling of his death by the daughters he left behind him.

Footsteps in the grass behind her made her turn to look upon a girl who was so familiar it hurt. Red curls fell down her back, and grey eyes looked up at her. It was like looking in a mirror that could see past all the changes to what she had always been. This young girl-child looked as she had done, before she had left, before The Change. The little girl smiled shyly up at her.

'Hello,' she said cheerfully. 'Why are you here?'

Laurèneial forced a smile for the cheery soul before her.

'Saying goodbye,' she told her. 'Might I ask what you are doing here?'

The little girl gestured with the little posy she was holding.

'Putting flowers on my great-great-great grandmother's grave,' she said solemnly, and moved to do just that, placing the posy on one of the later gravestones that bore an unfamiliar name that was still family. 'It's her birthday today. I'm Rosie. You're that Elf everyone's talking about, aren't you? Are you really millions of years old?'

Infected by the child's curiosity, Laurèneial couldn't help but laugh.

'Not yet,' she smiled. 'Yes, I am that Elf, and yes, I am a little under ten thousand years old. My name is Laurèneial.'

Rosie grinned up at her cheerfully.

'Why are you saying goodbye?' she asked innocently.

Laurèneial's smiled turned sad.

'You see these graves?' she said, pointing to the ones she had come to find. 'I knew them once, long ago. When I left here, I thought I would never come back, but now I have, I can finally say goodbye to them.'

Rosie looked amazed, staring first at her, then at the graves, and finally back at her again.

'Cor,' she remarked, 'you're really old, aren't you?'

Again, Laurèneial couldn't help but laugh.

'To one so young, yes, I suppose I am,' she sighed, the smile lingering on her youthful features. 'But I have never felt my age until now, when I look upon the graves of those who shared my childhood.'

Rosie was silent for a moment. Then her hand slipped up and gently into Laurèneial's.

'Come and stay with us,' she offered. 'My mother won't mind, I'm sure.'

Laurèneial held the child's sincere gaze for a long moment.

'I will visit you and your family,' she agreed, 'but I will not stay unless I am invited by those who run your little household, Rosie. You should not be asking complete strangers to your house anyway.'

Rosie scowled at her.

'You sound like my father,' she complained. 'Come on.'

Letting the little girl lead the way, Laurèneial led her horse through the streets once more, this time even more aware of the curious stares aimed at her as she slipped past Men and Dwarves, following the good-hearted child who skipped ahead of her. Several other children greeted her as she entered Rosie's home, each full of questions about her, but did not answer, waiting instead to be addressed by the master of the house.

'I am Ostoher, master of this house,' he greeted her sternly. 'And you are?'

'Laurèneial, of Fangorn,' she answered, trying hard not to stare at the similarities he owed to her brother, long since dead.

'Why are you here, Laurèneial of Fangorn?' he asked, silencing his daughter when she tried to answer for her newfound friend.

'I cam in search of resolution and found only pain,' Laurèneial told him. 'Your daughter pulled me from my grief and invited me here, to meet you and your family, sir.'

Ostoher's eyes narrowed as he looked at her, as though trying to see through any lies she might be telling. He drew in a deep breath.

'Rosie tells me you were at my family's grave-plot,' he said accusingly. 'What business do you have with men long since dead?'

Laurèneial looked into his eyes, and knew she could not tell him the whole truth. The pain was still too near for her to accept family that she had never known.

'They were … my friends,' she told him, her voice soft with grief, her eyes dimmed with tears. 'They sheltered me when I was young, and sent me away for my own safety. I swore I would come back, and though it has taken me ten thousand years, I have. I came to wish them a final farewell, and heartfelt thanks, and if this offends you, sir, I will go, and never again darken your door with my memories of what once was.'

Ostoher's gaze was piercing as he weighed her up.

'There is a story among my family,' he said slowly, 'a story of a young she-elf who once lived among us as one of our own. It is legend to us, of how she was a part of our family. But her name was not the name you have given me here, her name was …'

He trailed off, apparently changing his mind. Laurèneial watched him for a long, silent moment, and spoke again.

'Her name was Niamh.'

He turned back to her with a look of astonishment.

'How can you know that?' he demanded.

She held his gaze steadily, unafraid of his anger any longer.

'Because I was once called Niamh, and I once lived among Men,' she said softly. 'I called them brother and sister, and father. They were all I had, and I had to leave to keep them safe.'

Ostoher stared at her, his eyes a whirlpool of conflicting emotions.

'The legend always said you would come back,' he murmured, 'that you would come back and visit the graves, and that we should welcome you as one of us.'

He moved forward suddenly and embraced her roughly.

'You are most welcome, Laurèneial of Fangorn, who was once Niamh of Bree,' he said harshly, his voice thick with emotion as she allowed herself to return the embrace. 'And welcome to stay for as long as you wish.'

* * *

And stay she had, for many years, watching each generation of her family grow and die, and always wishing for some way to prevent the passage of time, to bring back those she had loved so dearly. Laurè stared up at the rising moon, remembering countless faces that had in some way been similar to her own, and each countless story they had told, each in their own lifetime of joy and grief. She had become known throughout the little town, which had been renamed Bree – yet another name that struck a chord that she had not been able to track. Men had twisted her chosen name over the years, shortening it to Laurè. And because it had been those of her blood who had given her this, shorter, name, she had held true to it, keeping it her own throughout the many years of her life.

The years she had spent in Bree had been a surprising mix of happiness and sorrow, and she knew she would not exchange those memories for anything in the world, nor would she do anything different if she could do it all again. She lived in that town of Men for almost nine hundred years, learning the healing arts and perfecting her own personal way of dealing with people of every race; a skill that had stood her in good stead in the years after. But in every good time there was always a darkness growing on the edge of vision, and this was no different.

Rumours began of a race of dark creatures, twisted and blackened, stalking merchantmen, and attacking outlying villages, creating havoc across the land. Bodies of those who had been attacked were found with limbs missing, sometimes ripped off, sometimes cut, and sometimes found elsewhere, gnawed through to the bone. Sightings of these foul creatures became more and more frequent, and the Men of Bree began to arm themselves against what they thought was an impending attack.

And then, with the swiftness of an arrow, Laurè had known that it was not Men who were in danger, but Elves. She could not explain how she had known, but she had left Bree, making once more for her home in Fangorn Forest, a home she had not seen for over two thousand years. She had travelled by night, lying up by day, ignoring the ache of her muscles and the fear in her heart until she reached the edge of the Forest. She remembered so clearly how it had felt to stand there, alone, unprotected …

* * *

It felt wrong, somehow. She couldn't explain it, this oppressive feeling gathering in her mind that something was not right with this place. Her sharp eyes could see the signs of a great multitude passing between the trees, a clear sign that it had not been Elves, for they left very little trace, even in great numbers. Yet she could smell animals, too, and knew them for what they were; Wargs and Werewolves, and some foul creature that rode them.

She ventured into the Forest, careful to keep to the shadows, away from places of ambush. Everywhere she looked she could see the signs of battle, here and there, the mutilated bodies of Elves she had known, and Elves she had not. Sounds in the darkness filtered out to her, and without thinking, she drew her bow, holding it taut as she walked her lonely way through the ravaged places of her home. Blood stained the trees, flesh hung from the boughs, and everywhere the stench of death filled her nostrils.

What could have happened here? How was it that the Elves seemed fled, from an army of what? Who could have sanctioned such barbarity? And why hadn't the Ents seen fit to protect their friends? She could see the glaring marks of blades on the trees around her, could hear them moaning to one another as she passed them by. Any other time, she would have stopped to soothe their pain, but for now she was too concerned with the fate of her people to worry about those that had sheltered them for thousands of years.

Slowly, she approached the site of the village she had called home for so long, and stopped, disgusted by what she saw. The charred and blackened bodies of her people hung from the houses and trees, covered with the obvious signs of feasting on their flesh. Even children hung there, small limbs covered with teeth marks and knife wounds. Not a single building was left standing; all had been razed to the ground. And everywhere, all around her were the signs of battle. The indents in the earth of a great many people pushing hard to defend their home; a mark on a doorframe where a blood-stained hand had rested for a few moments; inside the houses, signs of hasty packing; in the stables, the horses turned loose to roam Fangorn, unprotected.

And there, behind her, hidden in the shadows, the ones who had done this to her home, watching her, waiting for her to lower her guard. She could hear them, growling in their own language, a language that sounded frighteningly similar to her own, and shuffling about under the cover of the trees. The smell was horrific, even hidden beneath the stench of Elvish blood. Whatever it was that was watching her, it would pay for this attack on her own.

With a roar, four of the creatures leapt from the trees, clearly thinking they had taken her by surprise, but she was ready for them. She had felt a slight twinge of doubt that she may not be able to take a life, but one look at them was enough to cure her of it. They were horrific, mad things that would kill her and defile her body if she did not end their lives first. Her drawn bow sang, twice, and two of them fell, arrows buried in their eyes. She had no time to make sure of them before the other two were on her, hacking and slashing with slow heavy strokes that she easily avoided, throwing her bow to one side as she skipped backwards across the rough terrain to a distance where she could draw her sword.

* * *

In the moonlight, Laurè drew that same sword, holding him so the light shone from his highly polished steel. A sword of elven making, a named sword, Angùrei had stood her in good stead through the years since his forging. He had been made for her, a gift from the Elven smiths of Eregion for a service she could not recall now, so long ago had it been. But she remembered, even now, the first time Angùrei had tasted blood, the first time she had drawn him in battle, and how lucky she had been that her sword was of good manufacture. She was certain that without Angùrei she would have died that day …

* * *

They came at her together, two snarling, growling, roaring things with black skin and twisted limbs, their lips drawn back to reveal sharp ragged teeth. There was no determination in their eyes, no purpose in their minds but that of killing this defiant she-elf that had ventured across the battle scene. Yet it was plain they had no clear thoughts in their heads, for they did not come at her at once, nor did they attack together, as she had expected. Instead they circled together, letting her weigh them up before making an attack of her own.

She feinted to the left, surprised when they fell for it, and leapt to the right as the smaller of them lunged at her, bringing her sword around in a full blow to its back. Angùrei sang through the air, a song of beauty and death, biting into the creature swiftly and ruthlessly. It roared in pain, falling heavily to the ground as she wrenched him from its muscle and sinew, turning to face its companion. But she knew in an instant that she had been too long in the movement, for the creature was upon her swiftly, hacking at her wildly as she struggled to find her ground in a fight she had not been prepared for. Its cruel weapon caught her shoulder, biting deep, and sending her own red blood pouring from the wound.

She stumbled backwards, each blow becoming harder to stop as her arms tired under the assault. The coarse weapon of the evil creature swung close to her head, the clang as it met Angùrei almost deafening to ears that had not heard the sounds of war. Her feet caught on something behind her, and she fell backwards, sprawled over the body that bore one of her own arrows through its eye. The fall saved her, for the creature had swung again as she fell, a blow of such power that it would have cleaved her head from her shoulders if it had fallen. She had no time to watch it stagger, to try and maintain its balance, as some unknown instinct took her over. Her out flung hand grasped Angùrei's hilt and brought him around in a low arc that severed the creature's legs at the knee. As it fell, she scrambled to her feet, backing away as the thing screamed its pain and anger at her, snarling out words she almost recognised but for the foul twisting of its speech. In fear and anger, and confusion, she brought her sword down upon its neck, killing it with one final blow.

As the silence of the forest flowed back into her consciousness, Laurè fell to her knees, sobbing in pain and sudden terror. The gash in her arm oozed bright blood over her tunic, staining the cloth, and dripping from the hand that still held Angùrei, to mingle with the black blood that dripped from his blade. The enormity of those past few minutes hit her, of the fact that she had taken life. It didn't matter that they had been trying to kill her, only that she had killed them, quickly and with frightening efficiency. She had never thought, seriously, that the skills learnt in a thousand years of play fighting so very long ago would ever become necessary to exercise in this world that she had come to love. Or that she would grow to be so good, that the attack of four others would be so easily fought off.

For she did not doubt that it had been an easy fight. Had they been better prepared, or even just able to work together, she knew it would be she lying on the blackened ground, and they standing over her, and they would not be feeling the grief she felt now for the innocence of life that she had just lost. She limped to her feet, aching from the strain of the fight, and kicked at one of the bodies, knocking it onto it's back, and stared in horrified fascination at the foul visage. Black eyes stared, unseeing, up at her from a face that was awful to look upon. The skin was hardened and rough, almost scaly in appearance, and mottled black and darkened green. It was tall, taller than Laurè easily, and the muscles stood out all over its body with the strength that she had felt levelled against her. It was twisted and evil looking, and she found herself growing to hate it for the undisciplined violence it had shown her.

And as she stared at it, all the pieces fell into place in her mind with a single thought; this was an Orc. Memories of a book read when she was human came flooding into her mind, a book filled with Elves and Dwarves and Men, a book that told of the coming of these terrible creatures and the ones who led them. A book that, when it was written, had been set by the author in a future only he could see. Shock rolled over her in a blast, rocking her on her feet. How could she have been so blind? The clues were everywhere she looked; everywhere she had already looked in the years she had spent travelling the land. If this much was true, how much else of what she had thought fiction would become a reality?

A distant roar jolted her from her petrified contemplation, reminding her of the clear and present danger that surrounded her. She had to find her people, to make sure they still lived. There was no safety in Fangorn for them any longer, she knew; they must have made their way to one of the other settlements. As she bent to retrieve her bow, remembering the wound when it flashed white-hot pain through her, she searched her memory to try and find the location of the closest Elven sanctuary. The name of the Galadhrim kept turning through her mind as she ripped a strip of linen from her shirt to bind the gash, tying it clumsily with one hand. And again, she felt a flash of understanding. She must go to the stronghold of the Galadhrim, and it would be there she would find what was left of the Elves of Fangorn, and perhaps, the friend she had parted with two thousand years before.

A soft smile touched her lips as she thought of Ríel, and the closeness of the friendship they shared. It would be good to see her again, to know how she had spent the years they had been apart. And, of course, the quickest way was to cut through the kingdom of Khazad-dûm, where, if the Dwarves did not remember her, the Elves of Eregion would remind them of her friendship with them. Her journey would not be so fraught with danger, or so long as the miles seemed to suggest. Quietly, she crept from the first settlement of Elves, the last of her kind to set foot in Fangorn, and leave the best and the worst of times behind her.

* * *

Absently, her eyes focused on centuries ago, Laurè touched the scar that remained to this day on her shoulder, a single line of white that had never quite faded, and the first of many such scars that each told their own story. The journey had indeed been less dangerous than it could have been, she recalled, but those days spent in the travelling to Khazad-dûm had been no less terrifying for the lack of such danger. Every sound had been Orcs creeping up on her, each flash of shadow another attacker come to finish what those first few had begun. None of those skirmishes had been difficult to win, and she had quickly learnt the value of retrieving her arrows from the bodies of her foes. By the time she had reached the enormous gates of Khazad-dûm, she had given up trying to feel anything for her enemy but hate and pity, and had found herself a better fighter for it.

The Dwarves had quickly let her in, given no choice when she had read the _ithildin_ inscription above the gates and had spoken the word that would allow her entry. She had been very lucky, as she recalled, to have survived that inauspicious entrance to the underground kingdom, stumbling through the gates, weak and weary, into a ring of suspicious faces and weapons held high. It had been a lucky happenstance for her that an old friend, one of the second generation Elves named Celebrimbor, had been staying with the Dwarven king and was alerted to the presence of one of his own kind before they had carted her off to be hanged for a dark spy. It had been a blessed relief to see one of her own in the darkness of the underground kingdom, and even more of a relief to then be untied and her wounds dressed. She had told her friend of the events that had brought her here, and he, in turn, told her of what she had missed in her wanderings.

For she had missed a great deal, it seemed. Celebrimbor had told her of the messenger from the West, the Elf who shone with the light of a thousand stars, and of the news he had brought with him; how there was a land over the Western Sea where the Elves dwelled, rich in splendour and light, never tiring of the immortality that had wearied so many of their fellows here in Middle-earth. He had spoken of the many Elves who had left these shores to enter the Undying Lands, leaving them to live on among mortals as was their choice, and warned her that many of those she had known from youth had gone, tired of a life where war and death seemed so great a part of living. She had listened in horror as he told her of Melkor, whom the Elves called Morgoth, and how he had introduced foul creatures and evil beings into their world. She was told of the war Morgoth had waged on Elves and Men, and how he and his minions had destroyed the greatest things of beauty in the Undying Lands before being cast from this world by beings he could only describe as gods. And he had told her of the foul army of Orcs and Wargs that had attacked the Elves, forcing many from their homes in terror and panic, and of the Elven army that was growing slowly, day by day. She learned of the origins of the foul Orcs, how Morgoth had taken Elves and tortured them, in spirit as well as in body, and had bred from them a race that were as foul as Elves were fair, and hated those they had come from. He told her of many things, each stranger than before.

And as he spoke, Laurè had realised that she knew all of this, not from news she had heard or some Elven understanding she had gained, but from the elusive book she had remembered only recently, the history given within it's pages, and she knew that there would be a great many other atrocities committed before peace would return in full to Middle-earth. She recalled how wonderful the Undying Lands had seemed at that point, where she could have hidden herself away, and had nothing at all to do with the fate of this land. But she had known, even then, that her role in what was to come would be important, and that, through this knowledge her newly remembered memories had given her, she had a duty to these peoples to see it through to it's proper conclusion, even if the making of it killed her.


	3. A Time For War

Many thanks to Crecy for that encouraging review, and also to a certain person who made sure I didn't give up on this - you know who you are!

* * *

Chapter Three – A Time for War

She looked out across Rivendell with a sigh, feeling the weight of her self-induced burden keenly in the cool night air. It had been so long since she had lived her life for herself, giving everything she had to bring events to this one moment, where a single decision could change the destiny of Middle-earth and all who dwelt there. There had been times along the road where she had thought to give up, to let them find their own way, but whenever she tried to turn away, that treacherous guilt would creep in, reminding her of what she had sworn in those early years when she had realised that there was a chance that only her memory would stand between Arda and its total destruction. Only once had she turned her back on the path she had chosen, and it had hurt her more deeply than she could ever have imagined. And even now, she could not turn aside, not when everywhere she looked, she was reminded of how much she herself had done to bring them all to this point.

The Dwarves had helped her pack provisions for her journey, and re-equip herself with better armour. She had refused the mithril mail, she remembered, preferring the supple leather jerkin that slipped easily over her tunic and moved with her as she ran through the halls, rebuilding her strength for the troubles that were sure to come. But she had not allowed herself to remain long, bidding farewell to Celebrimbor and the Dwarves before the second day was through. She had known there were only a few miles to her destination, and knew enough not to expect anything but destruction when she arrived. What she hadn't expected, she thought with a rueful grin, was to be knocked unconscious as she entered the wood, by an ambushing party of orcs who had been lying in wait for any Elves that might venture through. Her awakening had been an enlightening experience …

* * *

The pain in her head was terrific, unlike anything she had ever felt before. And to make things worse someone was speaking to her. Laurè opened her eyes, watching the world swim into focus and forcing down the nausea that came with it. A groan escaped her lips as she shut her eyes once more, trying to gain control of her body. Ignoring the gentle voice speaking to her was not an option, she quickly realised, since it was trying to make her wake up. 

'No, don't move her, she'll fight you,' it said sharply, apparently to someone else, and then turned its attention back to her. 'Come on, sleepy, time to wake up. I don't know, I go to all this trouble to make sure you're not killed, get myself beaten black and blue in the process, and now you won't even give me the time of day. Is that gratitude?'

Laurè frowned, wincing as the expression jolted whatever had been done to her head, and opened her eyes, suddenly aware that the voice was speaking in Sindarin. A feminine Elven face came into view, clearly battered, sporting a split lip, and several bruises, some of which were quite recent. The blue eyes twinkled mischievously as Laurè groaned again.

'Oh, there you are,' she grinned, though there was an edge to the pleasant expression Laurè wasn't certain she liked. 'Hello … remember me?'

Laurè rolled her eyes, smiling up at her old friend.

'Ríel,' she said softly, pleased to see her alive.

Ríel gave her a look of mocking astonishment.

'It speaks!' she exclaimed. 'And what does it say?'

Laurè glared at her.

'Ow,' she answered, moving to get to her feet. 'Move out of the way, or help me up.'

Ríel's grin didn't slip as she bent to help her friend to her feet.

'You took your own sweet time getting here,' she said, only slightly sarcastically. 'We live together for eight thousand years, then you disappear for two thousand! We thought you'd been killed.'

Laurè raised an eyebrow, flinching a little at the pain.

'You and I both know I'm not that stupid,' she muttered, stretching her back carefully. 'What are you doing here?'

'Fighting, what else?' Ríel smiled. 'The Galadhrim are not having a good time of it in this war. We've been fighting Orcs for nearly fifty years, you know.'

Laurè felt a slight twinge of jealousy.

'At least their home is still standing,' she said softly, trying hard not to glower, and clearly failing from the look on her friend's face.

Ríel's smile turned sad.

'They have something to fight for,' she murmured. 'I take it you've seen Fangorn.'

'I've been there,' Laurè said, just as gently. 'And I've brought something with me, as a keepsake.'

Ríel's confused frown quickly turned to a gasp of horror when she saw the blood oozing through Laurè's shirt.

'You're hurt,' she cried, softly. 'What happened?'

'Seems like the Orcs don't believe in leaving loose ends,' was all the reply she got.

'They were waiting for you?'

Laurè sighed, rolling her injured shoulder gently as the warmth of her blood began to slide once more down her arm. She turned to look up at the Misty Mountains, her eyes seeing through them to the memory of a dead settlement, still watched by evil.

'Not for me, exactly,' she said, her voice heavy with heartache for the sights she had seen. 'They seem to be under the impression that the Elves will return to Fangorn. There were parties of them set all across the forest, all alert for anything that passed through.'

Ríel frowned, clearly disturbed by this news.

'Won't Treebeard do anything to get rid of them?' she asked.

Laurè laughed suddenly, a bitter sound at odds with her battered appearance.

'That depends on whether the Ents have decided what they're going to do yet,' she snorted. 'I came across them while I was making my way here. Apparently, as soon as they heard the sounds of battle, they held an Entmoot to decide whether they should help you.'

Ríel looked surprised, raising an eyebrow.

'And?'

Laurè looked back at her with a rueful smile.

'It was still going on when I passed through,' she sighed, shaking her head. She nodded towards the other Elves who were watching them. 'Who are your friends?'

The three male Elves glanced at her, clearly unimpressed with her as she gave them an appraising smile, seeing the arrogance that seemed to be abundant in all the Elves who had been born to this world and time. Ríel shared the smile, glancing over at her companions with a mixed expression of pride and exasperation.

'They are Galadhrim, Laurèneial,' she began, and stopped, seeing her friend stare at her in surprise. 'What?'

Laurè let herself smile.

'I haven't heard that name in nine hundred years,' she said in wonder. 'I answer to Laurè now.'

Ríel held her gaze for a long moment.

'You and me are definitely going to have to have a long talk about what we've been up to,' she said firmly. 'But not here, not now.'

One of the Elven men stepped closer, signalling for Ríel's attention.

'We should leave this place, my lady,' he said, his voice soft but tense. 'The Orcs move in greater numbers.'

She nodded, waving him away.

'Alright, Orophin,' she agreed. 'Take your brothers and move ahead. We'll follow.'

He frowned, glancing at Laurè suspiciously before looking back at her.

'My lady, I would not leave you with one unknown to me,' he said seriously, ignoring the look Laurè gave him. 'You are needed in this war.'

Ríel smiled at him, trying hard not to laugh.

'Orophin, the worst she could do to me is dent my ego,' she assured him. 'We are old friends.'

'The oldest,' Laurè supplied, giving him a sweet smile as he turned a stern glare on her.

'If you harm her in any way, you will have to deal with me,' he told her, and turned away, stalking from the clearing in what looked like a foul mood.

His brothers glanced from Ríel to the forest, and followed him, the younger sending the two women an apologetic smile as he disappeared into the shadows. Laurè shook her head, retrieving her bow as she followed her friend from the clearing.

'What a pleasant fellow,' she remarked, provoking another smile.

'He means well,' Ríel said quietly. 'A lot has changed since we were last together, Laurè. It may take you a while to understand.'

Laurè nodded, falling into step behind her as they slipped between the trees. She had not expected anything to be as it had been, but perhaps things had changed too much for her follow. Ríel's warning would not go unheeded, she promised herself. She would try to understand before she acted on anything she had learnt.

* * *

Laurè shifted against the stone balcony, hearing those words echo across the years. A lot had changed, and changed again, the world around them continually evolving as the years passed. She rose to her feet, moving back into her rooms, out of the moonlight, and across to her desk, where her books lay open, untouched. She smiled to herself. All those promises she had made to herself to write down everything, and here it was, pages upon pages of memory, and yet there was nothing here that was so very different from the first book she had read so many years before. It was as though she was telling a story that did not need to be told, a song that had already been sung. 

She had been grateful for her friend's warning, she recalled, remembering how the shock of these Elven ways were so different from the ways she was used to. These Elves had been given to suspicion and intrigue, with none of the closeness they had enjoyed in Fangorn. She had learned of Ríel's rise in rank, through battle and deeds done, and how her old friend had now commanded an entire regiment of highly trained elvish warriors, mostly of the Galadhrim. As an outsider, no matter how often Ríel told them of her history, Laurè had enrolled herself as an ordinary foot soldier in her friend's little army, prepared to work her way up through the ranks until she was in a position where she could change things.

But to do that, she first had to know her friend once more, and only through speaking with her of the years spent chasing dreams could she do that. Laurè was surprised to find she still remembered that evening with a strange clarity missing in most of her memories …

* * *

The soft crackle of the fire was comforting to her as she sat before it, watching Ríel wax her bowstring. It had been a long time since she had spent an evening with an Elven friend, but the evening was not so relaxed as she might hope it was. For they were camped amidst a huge army of Elves, gathered from each of the strongholds, and all around her she could see the fear and anger in her people. They would go into battle the next day, they all knew, and for beings not gifted the death of old age given to mortal Men, the thought of the death that could be awaiting them was not a good one. 

Even she had become downhearted as the night drew on. Angùrei lay across her knees as she sharpened his edge with a whetstone, listening with interest as Ríel told her of the years they had spent apart.

'I was never one to face my emotions, you know that,' she said softly, the firelight casting dancing shadows across her face. 'I just couldn't face going back there, to feel the pain of knowing that they're not there anymore.'

Laurè nodded, knowing that feeling as keenly as her friend.

'So what did you do?' she asked.

Ríel sighed, glancing up at the full moon shining down through the swaying branches above them.

'I kept myself busy,' she sighed. 'I went to Doriath, to see for myself the so-called goddess queen who reigned there …'

Her voice trailed off, her eyes becoming distant and shining with some unknown delight that Laurè couldn't trace.

'Melian really was a goddess, Laurè; she is of the Maiar, and she knew things that would have seemed fantastical to me only a few hundred years ago,' Ríel murmured. 'I learned so much from her, how to do things that you wouldn't believe.'

Laurè smiled to herself, thinking of the things she knew her people could do, and the writings of her people in that oft-remembered book.

'I dunno, I expect I could believe quite a bit,' she muttered ruefully.

She was looking straight at her friend when Ríel next spoke, and saw for herself the truth in her friend's words. Her lips didn't move, nor her expression change, yet Laurè heard the words in her mind as clearly as if they had been spoken in her ear.

'_Can you believe this?'_

She stared, astonished by her friend's sudden powers. Ríel's grin looked in danger of eating her nose.

'And that's only half of it,' she enthused, her cheeks flushed with the effort of putting her thoughts into another mind. 'I can do so much more, but it's nothing compared to Melian's powers. She was amazing, Laurè, I'm so sorry you never met her. It was awful when she left, but there was nothing here for her after Thingol was murdered.'

'Well, she obviously made a big impression on you,' Laurè joked, trying to shake the shock from having her mind placed wide open for anyone to get into. 'But I refuse to believe you've spent two thousand years just doing that. What else have you been up to?'

Ríel looked shifty for a moment, glancing down at the fire.

'Fighting,' she said simply.

Laurè blinked slowly, not understanding why this was something to be ashamed of.

'And?' she prompted, encouraging her friend to tell her everything.

Ríel looked up at her again.

'That's all,' she said defiantly. 'I've been fighting for more than a thousand years, in every war that has shaken this land since then. I've seen death and destruction a thousand times over. I was there when the Nogrod Dwarves killed Thingol and overran Doriath. I've trained thousands of Men and Elves to defend themselves, I'm known in every city in Middle-earth, and this is what I do. This is what I'm best at.'

'Now that's something I refuse to believe,' Laurè shot back. 'Being good at war is not something to be proud of, and it's certainly not the only thing you're good at. What about the skill you just showed me? Is there anyone else, apart from this Melian, who can do that?'

'Not that I know of,' came the quiet reply. 'But how can speaking in people's minds, knowing what they're thinking, possibly be of any real use in these times?'

Laurè shook her head slightly, smiling.

'Not in these times, perhaps, but what about the ages to come?' she said gently. 'What about in the wars to come when you may not be just a soldier, but a leader, a queen? What about when Sauron rises to take over Middle-earth in the stead of his master, and the One Ring is forged? What then?'

Ríel stared at her, confusion written large on her face.

'What on earth are you talking about?' she demanded. 'Who says Morgoth's lieutenant is going to rise against us, and what in the name of Melian does a piece of jewellery have to do with anything?'

Laurè rolled her eyes, thumping the whetstone to the ground beside her.

'Are you seriously telling me you haven't worked out what's going on?' she asked. 'That nothing in this new way of life has reminded you of anything you might have seen or read before The Change?'

Ríel frowned, clearly thinking back, and shook her head.

'No, why?'

Laurè leaned forward eagerly, desperate to convince her friend of what she had discovered.

'I think I know what's going to happen,' she said earnestly. 'Not now, but thousands of years in the future. I _know_ what's coming, Ríel.'

Ríel raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak, giving her the chance she always gave to explain herself.

'You don't remember a book called Lord of the Rings?' Laurè pressed. 'Or even a film?'

Ríel's frown deepened.

'Film?' she queried, obviously intrigued by a word she hadn't heard in many years. 'I … I remember the word, but …'

'Moving pictures?'

Comprehension dawned on her friend's face.

'I got ya,' she smiled, dropping unconsciously back into the slang they had used as children. 'What film are we talking about here?'

'The Lord of the Rings,' Laurè said, feeling her spirits rise a little with this small victory. 'It's got hobbits – small people – a wizard, you know all that mystical fantasy stuff.'

Ríel's eyes narrowed as she tried to trace back to the time when she had seen this film.

'Go on,' she prompted. 'I'm still nowhere near following you, but this is entertaining, at the very least.'

Laurè let that pass, knowing she was only trying to lighten what had become a very serious discussion. She knew these little moments of levity were all a part of their friendship, how they had developed together through their years of hardship and loneliness. She knew, however, that she would have to come up with something very convincing to make her believe this.

'There was an elf,' she said, smiling slightly as the memories of that time long ago came back to her. 'You thought he was lovely, as I recall . . . something about always having a thing for blondes?'

The look on Ríel's face was one worth remembering, and a joy to watch for Laurè who scarcely believed herself, let alone expected to convince someone else of her strange epiphany. There was remembrance there, coupled with astonishment and amusement, and a kind of strange wonder that quickly dissolved into horrified incredulity. Ríel stared at her.

'You're not serious,' she exclaimed, ignoring the startled glances she got from many of the Elves sat close by. 'That's not really going to happen, is it?'

Laurè shrugged.

'I really hope not,' she sighed. 'But either way, we won't know for at least another thousand years or so.'

Ríel had slumped backwards, her bow forgotten.

'I don't believe it,' she was muttering. 'It can't … I don't know what to think.'

Laurè smiled.

'Join the club,' she laughed.

* * *

A soft smile curved her lips as she remembered that night, with amusement now, though it had terrified her at the time. To find herself in the midst of an epic story, to be the only one who even vaguely know what would happen to them all as the ages turned, put her in the most awful place she had ever been. They had talked long into the night, ignoring the others as they bedded down to catch what little sleep they could before the morning march. When the morning had come, they had greeted the dawn with no little relief, each feeling their age keenly as they watched the hundreds of Elven warriors around them rise from their slumber. Laurè could remember standing on the crest of the hill and watching them go about their morning routine, and thinking that she could remember the years each of them had been born. She had been standing in the midst of an army of children compared to her, and the thought did not do much to cheer her. They would be going into battle in just a few short hours, and she had found herself possessed of an almost instinctual wish to protect them all, no matter what it took. 

The horror of that day did nothing to quell that instinct, either. She recalled with startling clarity the sight of thousands of Orcs arrayed against them; of Wargs stood snarling among them; of Werewolves, spitting and growling; each sound declaring the death of the Elven army. It had been a truly awesome sight, one that even now chilled her as she thought back on it. But even with the chill, she had the privilege to recall Ríel as her commander, riding up and down their line, shouting encouragement and praise to her warriors as she passed them by …

* * *

'Do not falter,' Laurè heard her shout as she rode past. 'Do not show fear! These things cannot stand against us! We are the first-born, the ancient people; we owe this earth and its peoples our allegiance! They look to us for guidance and protection, and we will not fail! I will die before I see this world fall!' 

She swept past once more, galloping along the line to shout her encouragement to others, and Laurè felt the spirits of those around her rise in response to their fiery leader's passion for the world around them. She felt her own fear subside, her fingers gently holding her bow loose, an arrow lightly nocked and ready to fire. She had never fought in a disciplined battle before, and now she would enter into war at the side of her friends, knowing that many of them would not return. Perhaps she would be one of those whose life would end on this beautiful day, but somehow she doubted it. She would be damned before those evil beings facing her across the wide plain took her life.

Around her, the Galadhrim took up their battle cry, and she joined her voice to theirs, shouting for her lost home deep in Fangorn Forest, and determining to make them pay for the loss of so many she had loved. Images of the blackened and mutilated bodies flashed through her mind, and she almost faltered, choking with grief at the suddenness of her realisation that they were all gone. She and Ríel were the last of the Fangorn Elves left here on Middle-earth; all others had gone into the West or died in battles such as these. But hard on the heels of the mind-numbing grief came a thought that pulled her from her despair. They were the last, yes, but they had knowledge that meant other peoples would go on to live for many thousands of years after they finally passed on. She did not have time to grieve, she knew, there was work to be done, and there were only two of them to see it done. Perhaps there would be time later on, she thought, taking up the cry once more as the Orcs began to swarm down the hill towards them.

The Elves drew their bows taut, loosing volley after volley of arrows into the heaving dark mass of bodies, watching in horror as the Orcs simply stepped over their fallen companions to surge across the field, seemingly uncaring that their formidable army was slowly being whittled down before they had even landed a single blow on an Elven body. It seemed that no order was given along the Elven lines, yet as one, they all sheathed their bows, drawing swords and daggers as they readied themselves to meet their enemy head on. The crash as the two armies came together would have deafened an onlooker, but as it was, there was no one to watch the fearful battle. As for herself, Laurè was caught up instantly in the more immediate problem of staying alive in the midst of a thousand screaming, howling Orcs and Wargs. Angùrei cut through flesh and bone, seeming to move with a mind of his own, saving her life time and again as she ducked the wild thrusts of the Orcs that swarmed about her.

The carnage seemed to go on for an age, but suddenly she found herself in a small opening in the mass of heaving bodies, trying hard to ignore the Elven faces among the dead. A war cry alerted her to Ríel's whereabouts, and she spun in time to deflect a blow that would easily have taken her torso from her legs had she not moved. She swung her sword, slashing rather than thrusting, and watched black blood fountain up from the mouth of her would-be attacker. She could see Rìel's sword flashing above the heads of those around her, and feel the push as they stumbled back under her assault. But as suddenly as she had noticed it, both the cry and the blade disappeared, and the Orcs surged forward, their own cries renewed with the apparent death of the Elves' leader.

Hot fury coursed through Laurè and she set about her with renewed strength, hacking her way through the black bodies around her to where she had last seen her friend fighting. But try as she might, she could not gain ground, nor push from her mind the terrifying thought that Ríel had fallen beneath some Orcish blade. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she cried out in fear and anger, and somehow that awful sound echoing around her head found it's way into words that she screamed at the top of her lungs.

'To Ríel! Galadhrim, protect your commander!'

For a moment it seemed that no one could possibly have heard her above the dreadful din, and she felt herself pushed back, falling to the ground amid the pushing, bleeding horde. But hands reached down, pulling her to her feet, and she glanced up at the face of Orophin, bloodied and bruised, and looking astonishingly angry. All around her were the vanguard of the Galadhrim, each grimly hacking into the Orcs' line. The gruesome creatures fell before them, giving ground reluctantly, until Laurè spied a familiar flash of golden hair beneath their feet. It seemed that Orophin and his brothers had seen it too, for together they hurled themselves at the Orcs standing over Ríel, pushing them back ruthlessly to pull the beaten she-elf to her feet. Rùmiel lifted his head, whistling shrilly, as Laurè took her friend's weight, keenly aware that all that was keeping them safe was the fury of their comrades as the Orcs began to push back. As if in answer to the Elven whistle, a horse forced its way through the conflict, moving to stand beside them as they manhandled the badly hurt Ríel into its saddle. Laurè allowed herself one glimpse of her friend as the horse forced its way back to safety, before taking up a war-cry of her own, fuelled by anger and fear, that became a rallying cry across the plain.

'Galadhrim! Ríel!'

It rose from a few determined voices, to a roar, thousands of tired voices raised in newfound vigour, their bodies responding to the determination of spirit that spread with the cry. Repeated over and over again, it seemed that it was by strength of voice alone that the Orcs were pushed back, further and further, until finally their line broke, and those few that were left broke and ran, squealing in terror, and Laurè realised that her comrades were looking to her for orders. Even Orophin, who had held such a low opinion of her mere hours before, was watching her with wary awe, and she almost laughed when she realised what a sight she must make for them, standing amidst piles of dead Orcs, Angùrei dripping with black blood, her own blood staining her fair skin and matting the pale blonde hair that lay lank and sweaty against her head. Coming to herself with a start, she barked out orders, sending twenty of the able-bodied to chase off the remaining Orcs, and ordering all others to see to themselves and the wounded. They would take a full body count later, she knew, but even now, blood still humming with the thrill of battle, she could see that the list would drive another shard into her heart; be another pain to lock away until a day when she could take the time to remember and grieve.


	4. A Time For Peace

Chapter Four – A Time for Peace

Laurè lifted her head from the door, already missing the cool wood against her skin as she once more pushed away the pain and hurt from those early battles, consigning them to the locked away part of her heart where all the grief was stored for that elusive someday when she would have the time. All those lives lost, for what? A chance to live a little longer under the darkness that grew with each century that passed them by? A hope that the knowledge she carried was the right path for them to take? She didn't know, but as she had told so many others when it seemed like the darkest days had come, there was always hope, even when the night is so dark you can't seem to see beyond the next hour.

And as always when her memory turn dark and hopeless, and the lives of those lost seemed to drag her soul down into a private hell made only for her, she remembered everyone who had died to bring them all to this point. Those lost in battle, those murdered in their sleep, those who had lived and died in peaceful times, knowing nothing of the struggle going on around them.

'They shall not grow old, 'she murmured to herself, blinking back the tears that came with the memory she dredged the words from, 'as we that are left grow old; age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn; at the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.'

She had been forced into a position of command after that battle, when commanders were so thin on the ground, and the men looked for someone they could follow. Her actions both during and after the battle had convinced the Elven soldiery that she was a natural choice, and word had come swiftly from Lindon that Rìel was to take command of the armies, giving over command of the Galadhrim to Laurè. They had marched hard to join the other Elven armies, before beginning to march on the Orcish strongholds in the East. The rallying cry that she had screamed out in the heat of battle had become their own over the months of that long war, and she could only imagine how it must have sounded to their enemies, thousands of Elves shouting the name of their leader and the rank she had risen from to take command. It had warped slowly over the seventy or so years of war as well, becoming the name Ríel was now known by across Middle-earth, the name that had come as such a shock to them both; Galadriel, Lady of Light, who was once known as Ríel, saviour of the Galadhrim in their most desperate hour.

Laurè could still remember the yell of consternation when her old friend realised exactly what her new name meant in the grand scheme of things …

* * *

Ríel glared up at her from her bed, shock radiating from her in waves. She had taken some bad wounds in the last few battles, which had caught up with her in a big way, forcing her to take to her bed for some much needed rest. As such, the first she had heard of her new title had been when Laurè had bounced into her bedroom and announced the startling news in an infuriatingly impish tone of mischievous glee.

'What do you mean, I'm Galadriel?' Ríel demanded of her as she thumped down onto the bed by her feet.

Laurè grinned. She knew it was a shock – it had shocked her – but she had spent a long time considering the implications and the good, in her opinion, far out-weighed the bad.

'Exactly what I said,' she told her friend. 'You're being hailed as the saviour of the Galadhrim, the hero Ríel. They've just conveniently shortened that title to a name.'

'A name that means a darn sight more than they know!' Ríel snapped. 'Why couldn't it be you?'

Laurè shrugged.

'They know you, Ri, they trust you,' she said softly. 'You've led them to victory over and over again. I'm just their commander, you're their lifeline.'

She received a withering glance for her words.

'Thanks, that makes me feel so much better,' came the sarcastic reply.

'I'm serious!' Laurè protested.

Ríel sighed.

'I know,' she admitted. 'And I'm touched that they think so much of me, but … it's just so much.'

She seemed to sag in the bed, and Laurè was inappropriately reminded of when she used to do exactly the same when faced with the usually monumental task of the washing up. Swiftly telling herself that now was not the time, she suppressed the amusement that came with the picture, and lifted her eyes to her friend as Ríel spoke again.

'I can't do it,' she said, sounding small and vulnerable. 'You're the one who knows what's coming in any kind of detail. I've tried so hard to remember the books you told me about, but I just can't. I can't be Galadriel, I'll never be able to do everything she can or know everything she knows. It'll be a disaster.'

Touched by this moving admission, Laurè moved to embrace her, mindful of the wounds that covered them both. For the first time in centuries, the two friends held each other close, one offering comfort that the other was grateful to accept. After a moment they leant back, looking at one another with completely honest eyes.

'Listen to me,' Laurè said quietly, her voice firm. 'You can do this. You have everything you need to make a start on becoming the Lady of the Wood. You had a teacher in Doriath who taught you all you need to know, and you can practise it all in the years to come. The Galadhrim love you and they'll welcome you back with open arms. You have centuries to become the Galadriel we know, and you will be fantastic.'

Ríel didn't look convinced.

'But –'

Laurè raised an eyebrow.

'I said listen,' she berated gently, cutting off whatever her friend had been about to say. 'Of course it's going to be hard, we can't expect it to be easy, but there'll be good times as well. Don't worry about what might be, because we're going to make what will be. Even if you do fall along the way, I'll always be here to pick you back up and set you on your feet again.'

Ríel managed a weak smile.

'Don't make promises you can't keep,' she joked half-heartedly.

'This is one promise I intend to keep,' Laurè said firmly. 'You're not doing this alone, I'm going to be right there with you all the way.'

'But it's not just us anymore, is it?'

Laurè paused, feeling the sudden weight of the years of duty she had placed upon herself settle heavily on her shoulders. She smiled sadly.

'No,' she agreed. 'It's not just us anymore; it's everything we see and know around us as well. For better or worse, you are Galadriel, and I'm not going to let you fall.'

Ríel stared at her helplessly, clearly wrestling with the enormity of her position.

'I'm trapped,' she muttered finally. 'I'm trapped, and you're insane.'

'What?'

'I mean it, you've finally lost that loose screw you've always had,' Ríel babbled. 'And you're going to force me into this, and I can't do it, I won't do it. You're stark raving bonkers!'

Laurè looked into her eyes, and saw a fear there that had never been there before. The sight shocked her, that her oldest and dearest friend was afraid of her and of what she might do to force her into something she clearly wanted no part of. Bitter disappointment filled her mouth as she leant back, inwardly berating herself for her foolish hopes.

'Then I'll just have to do it alone,' she murmured, her mind lost in sudden loneliness and despair. 'I'll never force you into anything. You are my friend, and I hope you always will be.'

She rose and left, angry more at herself than anything for the unsympathetic way she had tried to convince her friend to give up her life for the life of the world around them. There was no guarantee that any of it would come true, that any of what she remembered would become truth in the years to come. She had no right to expect others to share in a future she personally believed was coming, no more than she could show them that future herself. She thumped down onto a boulder, imagining a city that had not yet been built in this forest as the world began to fall into darkness once more.

Caras Galadon, the great city of what would be Lothlórien, where the structures wound up and around the great girths of the mallorn trees that would continue to grow, taking the hallways and galleries with them. When it would be built, the city would be only a few feet from the ground. Years later, it would weave back and forth between the trees, far above the greenery that made up the forest floor. What a sight it would be. But for now, she was content to sit and gaze around at the trees, and imagine what it would look like when Lothlórien was finally founded. She could feel the life in this place, the beauty of peace and comfort beside the vibrancy of victory that sang in every elvish heart tonight. But despite knowing they had won, despite having seen the Orcs break and run from their line, Laurè could not quite bring herself to feel the relief and joy of her fellows. In her mind's eye, she could see centuries of warfare, of fear and darkness, and her heart grew heavy with the thought of it.

As she sat in the growing darkness, she found herself humming an ancient tune that was almost as old as she herself, and long forgotten by the world as it turned through the ages. Pausing mid-hum, she searched her memory for the words, finding them strangely comforting as she let them flow in the silence of forest.

'… when the future passes into our hands … are we really strong enough to fulfil what the future demands …'

Laurè smiled to herself, albeit half-heartedly. Bring on tomorrow, she thought, I'll make it shine, even if it kills me.

* * *

That had been a dark night, she recalled, leaning against the window as she looked out at the advancing night. All those doubts and fears that she had thought buried had resurfaced, finding a voice in those ancient songs she had once found solace in during her youth and had somehow never forgotten. And strangely, from the depths of her despair had come hope, kindled in the knowledge that she had chosen the right path. The thought of walking it alone had been a disheartening one, but she had been a stubborn soul even back then, determined to do what she believed was right, even if it meant being alone …

* * *

Laurè stared down at herself in a mixture of awe and disgust. She still could not quite believe that after over ten thousand years of wearing tunics and hose, she was seriously considering appearing in public wearing a dress. At least it's long, she thought, lifting the hem to look down at her bare feet. This was one thing she had not objected to when she had been ambushed by giggling Elf-girls earlier in the evening. The feeling of warm wood beneath her feet was a welcome one, and soothing to her. Beneath her window, she could hear the young children and teenaged Elves playing between the trees, obviously excited about the grand party that was being held to celebrate the end of the war with the Orcs.

She bent her head to look down at her dress once more, and swore as her hair fell forward, obscuring her vision. Again, she had always worn her hair in a braid, yet now apparently she had to allow it to fall down her back loosely. It really was extraordinarily long, she realised, lifting a hand to find the ends where they brushed her backside. She twisted to try and see for herself the length, and almost passed out from the pain that emanated from her side. Breathing deeply, she laid her hand upon the last wound she had taken, the one they had been certain would kill her. It was barely begun healing, padded over with soft linen to protect it from harm, and extremely painful, as she had just reminded herself. She laughed softly, ignoring the twinge. It would certainly be a party to remember, given that almost everyone who was attending was wounded one way or another.

Returning to her examination of the gown she had been forced into, she had to concede it was at least becoming, if she could only get over the feeling that she wasn't dressed. And the colour, a deep green, was kinder to her features than the bright colours everyone seemed to think Elves should wear. But still, it was a dress, and that was more than enough to condemn it as a piece of clothing in her mind.

'Bloody hell, are you actually wearing a dress?' a familiar voice exclaimed behind her.

She turned, surprised, to find Ríel leaning on her doorframe, looking far more at home in her own gown of pure white. Laurè laughed faintly, ignoring the slight indignation at being barged in on.

'Don't get used to it,' she warned, turning to face her friend. 'You look stunning.'

Ríel grinned, twirling on the spot.

'Well, you know, if I'm going to be Galadriel, I'll have to look the part,' she smiled.

Laurè stared at her.

'Don't look like that, it's not as if the world's ending,' her friend laughed.

'What changed your mind?' Laurè asked her curiously.

Ríel shrugged, her face becoming sombre.

'When you left last night, I was in a right state,' she said quietly. 'It was a huge shock, and I guess I got scared. I'm really not ready for this sort of thing.'

She turned to the window, looking out at the children playing below.

'I had a vision last night, though,' she murmured. 'And it made everything seem so clear.'

Laurè moved to stand beside her, curious enough not to interrupt as Ríel continued.

'I was lying in bed, thinking about how hopeless everything seemed, and I heard music from outside,' she said, her voice soft and introspective. 'But I couldn't see where it was coming from. So I listened, and the music became a song, and the words pulled me up short. I remember that song, I remember singing it, with you, and not understanding what it meant. I do understand now. What you're going to do made so much sense suddenly, and I knew I couldn't let you do it alone. So here I am, and you'd better not let me screw this up.'

Laurè smiled to herself, buoyed by the knowledge that she was no longer alone in the monumental task she had set for herself.

'Thank you,' she said, in a tone as soft as her friend's.

They stood in silence for a few moments longer, until Ríel seemed to shake herself.

'Well, we can't stay here all night, we've got a party to go to,' she exclaimed excitedly. 'Come on, grandma, let's get going.'

Laurè's indignant gasp was lost on her as she dragged her friend through the door and down to the hall, pausing before the great doors that led into the huge room. She glanced back at Laurè, and her expression seemed to be asking for help. Laurè reached forward, squeezing her hand gently.

'I'm right here,' she said softly. 'You're never going to be on your own.'

Ríel sighed abruptly.

'I'd better not be,' she muttered, straightening her shoulders.

And Laurè watched as her closest friend Ríel pulled open the doors, and Galadriel stepped into the Great Hall, to the welcoming cheers of their people. The long years of duty had begun.

* * *

And so it had started. They had gone together to Lindon after helping the Galadhrim pick up the pieces of their shattered kingdom, and Laurè had finally felt regret for having never met Melian, the Maiar queen and wife of Thingol, the king murdered by the Dwarves of Nogrod. She had returned to the Maiar after her husband's death, leaving the wood in the hands of friends. The ruler, Gil-galad, had readily agreed to allow them to stay among them, knowing of their reputation, but had stipulated one condition for their stay; that they would raise the young prince of Doriath, whose home had been destroyed by the Dwarves of Nogrod when he was very young. Laurè had been quite happy to agree with this one condition, but Galadriel had had other ideas …

* * *

Galadriel looked down at the child in disgust.

'I am not playing babysitter for the next god knows how many years just to earn my keep,' she declared, trying to wrest her finger from the child's grip. 'I don't care how cute you think he is.'

Laurè tried not to laugh at the sight of her friend wrestling with a tiny child.

'Look, you just have to visit him occasionally,' she said reasonably. 'I'll do all the looking after for you.'

'Didn't Gil-galad say it had to be me?' Galadriel asked, turning her nose up as the little he-elf burped with a grin. 'I hate children. They just make noise and smell and get in the way.'

Laurè laughed, despite seeing the truth in her friend's words.

'Oh, stop complaining,' she smiled. 'I told you, I'll look after him. You just need to make an appearance every now and then.'

Galadriel looked hopeful.

'You're sure?' she asked. 'I wouldn't want to impose on you.'

Laurè shook her head with a warm smile.

'I don't mind, honestly,' she told her friend. 'Besides, it'll give me something to do other than wandering around worrying about things that won't happen for years.'

Galadriel shrugged, trying not to look pleased.

'Thank you,' she said gratefully. 'I promise, I will help you out occasionally.'

Laurè grinned.

'Don't make promises you can't keep,' she joked, and laughed as Galadriel gave her a guilty smile.

She looked down at the child, who stared up at her with the disconcertingly honest gaze of all young children. She had to admit, he wasn't the best looking child she had ever seen, being somewhat on the podgy side, and possessed of unusually large teeth that stuck out slightly. But he was sweet-tempered and clever, by all accounts, and much in need of a mentor to raise him. She could see him growing out of his youthful ugliness into a handsome face and figure; at least, she hoped he would. She was just lucky Galadriel hadn't made the connection between the boy's name and her own future.

Laurè watched her friend pat the boy awkwardly on the head and wander off, no doubt to stare at her mirror of water once more. She smiled down at the boy.

'Come along, Prince Celeborn,' she said, taking his hand in hers. 'Let's get you settled in your new home.'

The tiny prince followed her trustingly through the woods, staring back over his shoulder at the golden-haired she-elf who had almost smiled at him.


	5. A Time To Laugh

Chapter Five – A Time to Laugh

Laurè smiled softly. She remembered the years spent raising Celeborn with happiness, having spent most of those times in laughter at his antics as he grew. Galadriel had been true to her word; she had visited very occasionally, hardly ever for more than a couple of hours, and never speaking to the growing prince, who watched her in awe and wonder, often from a great distance. She had found his watchful eyes very annoying, and indeed, had even asked him once not to stare at her. He had obeyed her that one time, after some convincing by Laurè, and every other visit after had watched her from the window, or the doorway, unwilling to give up the chance to observe his 'golden-haired princess'.

Unfortunately, he had not out-grown his awkwardness by the age of thirteen, and found it very hard to get along with his peers as they played the rough-and tumble games of all children beneath the trees of Lindon. He spent increasing amounts of time with Laurè, learning everything she could tell him about the races of Middle-earth and enjoying lively discussions with her about their different ways and customs. Laurè found their talks enlightening, and was touched when one evening he had broached the subject of love, inwardly pleased that he had chosen her to confide in …

* * *

Laurè watched Celeborn play with the fire, seeing all the signs of a troubled mind. He had not been very talkative all evening, though he had refused to allow her to leave him to himself, asking that she stay with him until he felt ready to talk to her. The firelight was gentle to his features, softening the adolescence of his face into the mellowness of adulthood, showing her how handsome he would be in just a few short years. If only his confidence were more, she thought, knowing that it was the other children's teasing that made him shy away from conversation and interaction with them. It wasn't as if he was an unattractive boy, it was just that he was not as good-looking as other Elves.

He sighed suddenly, looking up at her with an unreadable expression.

'Laurè, have you ever been in love?' he asked her suddenly, his hand stilling in the act of stirring the fire.

Laurè looked up at him, surprised by the question. She had never done him the disservice of not telling him the truth, and even now, with this highly personal question, she did not intend to begin.

'No, Celeborn, I do not believe I have ever been in love,' she told him. 'I have had many close friends that I have loved in my own way, and I love you like a brother, but, no, I have never known the love that I sense you are speaking of.'

His cheeks flushed slightly as he ducked his head, staring back at the dancing flames.

'Do you want to fall in love?' he asked earnestly, almost as if he needed to know the answer.

Laurè smiled.

'I honestly don't know,' she said softly. 'Once I thought I might; I thought all I ever wanted to do was be a wife and mother. But seasons have changed the way I once thought, and now I do not know if I want to know the apparent joy that is love.'

'Why do you say it is apparently joy?' Celeborn inquired of her curiously, frowning slightly in the darkness.

'Because I have seen many people fall in and out of love,' she told him. 'I envy those who have lasting love, the ones who have been married for hundreds of years and still love one another as deeply as they did when first they met. With others, when they are in love, they were gloriously happy, content with their world, but when that love draws to an end, their world shatters, and they fall into the deepest misery I have ever seen.'

He frowned, concerned, his expression morphing suddenly into serious determination.

'It won't happen with me,' he said firmly. 'When I marry, it will be forever, and we'll love each other as long as we live.'

Laurè smiled slyly.

'We?' she asked. 'And who might the lucky she-elf be?'

The blush that lit up his face was crimson, and rose more quickly than she had ever seen before. He glanced down at his feet, and back at the fire, before finally lifting his eyes to hers.

'The Lady Galadriel,' he murmured shyly, his eyes alight with affection for the lady in question.

Laurè tried to look surprised. She had watched him fall slowly in love with her friend for years, and had never broached the subject with Galadriel, for fear of scaring her off like she had when they had first discovered what had happened to put them in the centre of things. She knew exactly what should happen between her friend and her protégé, and was not going to interfere until she knew she would have to.

'May I ask why?' she said gently.

His eyes glowed as he looked up at her, warming to his subject as he spoke.

'She is a ray of light in my world, Laurè,' he told her eagerly. 'Ever since I was young, she was always there, beautiful to look at, but out of reach for a child such as me. I used to listen to your conversations with her; I feel like I know her almost as well as you do, though I know I never could. I always thought she was perfect until I listened to you both, and I know now that she is not, but that only makes her lovelier. I am enchanted by her, Laurè, and I will marry her when I grow old enough.'

Laurè raised an eyebrow.

'Doesn't she have a say in this?' she teased him, watching him blush once more and laugh nervously.

'I would hope she will love me the way I adore her,' he said, obviously besotted with Galadriel, despite her ignoring him for many years.

Laurè looked at him, seeing him clearly in the waning light. Perhaps he needed some time away from Lindon, she thought; time to learn the difference between love and attraction. Certainly, Galadriel would be more likely to take to him if she did not know him as the awkward teenager who watched her all the time.

'I think it's time you saw a bit more of the world, Celeborn,' she murmured, forcing down a smile at the startled look of joy on his face. 'The halls of Khazad-dûm, perhaps, and the cities of the kings of Men; the riders of Rohan; even the home of the little folk they say is north of Amon Sul. Of course, it would mean you would be away from Galadriel …'

He then came out with a far more mature answer than she would have expected from a love-struck teenager.

'But this might be my only chance to see all the places you have,' he declared. 'Love can wait until I'm older, I want to see the world the way you have, and the people you've known. Please, Laurè, can we go?'

She laughed in delight at his eagerness, half-expecting him to leap up and begin packing at once.

'Of course we can go,' she assured him. 'We'll take the long way round, I think, and see all the places I've seen; Gondor; Arnor; Rohan; Khazad-dûm; the Misty Mountains; there is so much to show you.'

'It'll take us years to see them all,' Celeborn said, and she could see him working out the route in his mind. 'Oh, I can live without a sight of Galadriel for a few years, if only to be able to tell her of my journeys when we come back. Thank you, Laurè.'

He leapt to his feet and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly as she laughed at his enthusiasm. It would be a long journey, she knew, but if his reaction to the thought of going was anything to go by, it wouldn't feel as long as it could.

* * *

They had spent many years travelling the roads across Middle-earth, spending a few months in each place they visited. Laurè could remember how amazed Celeborn had been when he met with the kings of Gondor and Arnor, and learned to ride the wild horses of the Rohirrim. She had taught him to speak Westron, the common language of Middle-earth, but he had always felt uncomfortable forming the words, and as such, the archaic way of speech he used now when he spoke Common was exactly as it had been when he had been growing. The Elves of Greenwood had been a quiet relief from the toil of walking the earth, allowing them to rest themselves for more than a few months as she introduced him to her old friends from the war, including the young king, Thranduil, who had saved her life in the midst of one of their great battles against the Orcs.

After their not so brief stop among their kin, during which Celeborn developed a deep love of the Greenwood, Laurè had taken him to the Dwarven kingdom of Khazad-dûm, bartering passage within with her knowledge of the healing arts. They had been oddly fortunate in a way, she remembered ruefully, that the Dwarves had recently had a cave-in in one of their vaults, and needed the help to tend to their casualties. Whilst she had dealt with the rising tide of Dwarves with various health problems, Celeborn had taken the time to learn the Dwarvish customs and traditions, spending time with the elders of the caverns, surprising them with his wit and quick mind. It was there, more than anywhere, that Laurè saw him grow in confidence and intelligence, and it was during this time that she had gained a fondness for the Dwarves for their kind treatment of her young friend.

When, at last, he had felt he had learned all he could from the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm, he had turned to Laurè in search of something else to do, and they had taken their leave of the underground kingdom amid fond farewells and injunctions to return when they could. In icy weather, they had set off North, braving the wind and snow to arrive at the gates of Amon Sul in the company of the Dunédain, who escorted them into the watchtower with great pomp and ceremony. They had been encouraged to stay for a while, to observe the comings and goings of the world of Men as they passed through the region, bringing tales of the world to the North and West. During this period, Celeborn had often sought her out to ask her of her years spent in the town of Bree, and the reasons behind it. And she had told him the truth that she had told Ostoher so many years before – that the family had been friends of hers in the centuries before they had been born, and that she had returned for resolution. He had seemed to understand there was more to it than just that, but did not pry, showing her yet another side to his character that was developing throughout their journey.

And she remembered the wonderful discovery they made while staying at Amon Sul, the discovery that restored the confidence in her chosen path with a single glance at a visiting merchant. The Man in question had been selling a plant called pipe-weed, something you put in a pipe and smoked, and when questioned, he had told her that it came from a place called the Shire, where the Hobbits lived. Celeborn had not understood her glee on hearing that name, but had willingly allowed himself to be dragged up to the borders of the Shire, despite his disinterest, and watch his mentor grow increasingly more excited as she met with the halfling race that inhabited the region.

For herself, Laurè had been overjoyed to find all the old familiar names that she had grown up with as a part of fiction alive and being used. On the border, there were the Brandybucks and Tooks, huge families that spread a long way, and if all went as planned, would continue for thousands of years to come. As they travelled further into the Shire, they came across Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Sackvilles, Chubbs, Proudfoots, Bunces, and Gamgees … so many names that brought yet more hope into her heart. And finally, it had been a wonderful experience to meet a very young Master Baggins at the market in Hobbiton, and saw the hill that would become, one day, Bag End. But it wasn't just the names that made her feel so at home, she had soon realised. It had been the whole feel of the Shire, the pureness of the fields and woods, and the little rivers. She had soon come to appreciate the Hobbits' home, and it was a feeling that remained with her to this day; throughout all the ages she had seen it change so little despite the troubles that had wracked the world outside their borders.

Laurè closed her eyes and saw, as she always did, the sweeping fields of the Shire, spotted with hobbit holes and the hobbits themselves. A fond smile lit up her face as her eyes opened once more, finding a purpose in looking down on the windows of the room within which four young hobbits were sleeping through the long night. They would be here only a very short time, before beginning on a quest that would change them irrevocably, and she knew that in some way, she was responsible for those changes. And again, the pain that caused within her was locked away for that elusive someday when she would give herself time to grieve.

But, as she had learnt very quickly during her first years as an Elf, all good things had to end, and it was better if you ended them yourself, so she had packed up her not so young protégé and brought him home to Lindon, the Elven stronghold they had left almost twenty years before. And she had had the treat of watching him grow more and more nervous as the moment approached when he would look upon his golden-haired princess once more …

* * *

It felt good to be home once more. Laurè could feel the peace settling into her spirit as she rode through the trees, greeting old friends as they hailed her in passing. The greeting she received from her oldest friend, however, was the most welcome of these. Words spoken in her mind announced that Galadriel knew she was here, and a joyous yell alerted her to her friend's approach. She swung down from her horse in time to catch her as they slammed into one another, hugging each other tightly amidst laughter.

'It's taken you long enough to get back here,' Galadriel declared. 'Do you have any idea how boring it's been around here without you making trouble?'

Laurè made a face of mock-anger.

'I do not make trouble,' she protested, smiling along with her friend as she continued to tease her.

'Oh yeah?' Galadriel grinned. 'What about spending years with the Dwarves? You weren't very popular here when the news got back to us, you know. Taking the only member of ruined Doriath's royalty into a Dwarvish kingdom – what were you thinking?'

Laurè gave her a friendly scowl.

'That an understanding of other cultures will help him in the years to come,' she shot back.

Galadriel laughed.

'Oh please,' she scorned. 'How will that help your little drip of a prince be anything more than what he is?'

Laurè tried hard not to laugh.

'Believe me, it will,' she managed, reining in the amusement.

'Oh, yet another mysterious memory,' her friend joked, looking around curiously. 'By the way, where is he?'

Before Laurè could answer, Celeborn stepped forward, bowing low to Galadriel with a devilishly handsome smile.

'Lady Galadriel,' he greeted her formally, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles.

Again, Laurè had to hold back a snort of laughter as Galadriel's jaw dropped.

'Celeborn?' the gob-smacked she-elf stammered, obviously shocked by the change in the young man. 'You've grown up.'

Laurè decided now was the best time to test a theory she had held for a while; that Galadriel wasn't nearly as good at shielding as she thought she was. She formed the thought she wanted to send clearly, and raised her mental voice as loudly as she could.

'_Smooth, Ri, very smooth.'_

The reaction wasn't quite what she was expecting. Galadriel raised an eyebrow, but her expression didn't change as she stared up at Celeborn in sudden adoration. She answered within Laurè's mind, an answer she had expected, however it came about.

'_Shut up. He's gorgeous, isn't he? Are you sure this is him?'_

Laurè smiled.

'_Absolutely certain. He's quite handy to have around.'_

Celeborn was speaking to Galadriel, offering her his arm to lead her back into the hall. She threw a bright-eyed look over her shoulder at Laurè as she took his hand, allowing him to lead her wherever he wished. Her parting thought threw Laurè into silent giggles.

'_I bet I could teach him a thing or two to do with those hands …'

* * *

_

Even now, thousands of years after, Laurè still laughed at the memory, the clear sound cutting through the silence of the night. Perhaps she should have warned Galadriel of the fact that she was raising her friend's husband to be, but it had turned out better than she could possibly have imagined. Celeborn's courtship of Galadriel had been relentless, and very subtle, clouding the she-elf's consciousness with thoughts of him almost every waking hour. With help from Laurè, he had endeavoured to be everywhere she looked, and had managed not to go out of his way to talk with her or even look at her. The tables had been turned on Galadriel quite spectacularly, with her seeking out his company whenever she could, just for the joy of being in his presence. Although, the day Laurè had taken her out riding and they had come across a shirtless Celeborn wrestling with some of his companions, Galadriel had had to be led gently away for fear of making a complete fool of herself, almost drooling over the sight of his bare chest.

And of course, Laurè had found herself in the middle of this blossoming love, being the close friend of one, and the foster-mother of the other. Both sought her out to ask her advice, and neither thought that the other might be doing so, confiding their deepest feelings and worries to the one who had spent twenty years making sure it would come to this. She had helped Celeborn with his seduction of Galadriel, and had showed Galadriel to appreciate him as a whole, rather than a thing of beauty to be lusted after. Soon, they had begun spending almost all their time together, and it was known throughout Lindon that they were in love, even if they had not yet admitted it to one another.

Unfortunately, their growing attachment to one another left them little time for their friends, and Laurè now unashamedly admitted that those first years of their commitment had been the loneliest of her life. She had not been able to bring herself to leave them during that time, and yet, she had no other friends who were even half as close to her as the two she had brought together. As they found joy in one another's company, they seemed to abandon her, leaving her to amuse herself, and in such times, her thoughts always turned to the years ahead of them, and the work she had to do to accomplish it. Whereas before, she had always had Galadriel to brighten her thoughts, or Celeborn to talk with, now she had had only herself, and she had always been prone to pathetic phases of self-pity. The discussion with Celeborn about love had often come into her mind, and she had found herself resenting them slightly for the adoration they shared. But even this was not enough to dampen her spirits when she learned of exactly how close they had become …

* * *

Laurè looked up from the springy ash branch she was moulding into a bow, seeing the prince pacing up and down just a few yards from her. He bore an expression of acute nerves, and she wondered what could be going through his mind to make him so agitated. Seeing her attention was now on him, Celeborn stopped pacing and approached her, sitting down beside her as he had always done, his eyes open and honest.

'What can I do for you, your highness?' she asked him, laughing at the grimace she received for using his formal title.

'Don't call me that, Laurè,' he chided her. 'You're my friend, almost a mother to me, and I won't have you bring yourself down because of my title.'

He watched her grinning at him for a moment, and scowled good-naturedly.

'Don't tease me,' he protested. 'You know I can't stand it.'

She smiled at him, part of her wanting to continue the teasing, but relented when she saw that he wanted to speak with her about something that seemed important to him.

'What is it, Celeborn?' she asked, laying down the half-finished bow to give him her full attention.

He shifted uneasily, absently playing with the ash shavings that littered the ground at her feet.

'You know how much I love Galadriel,' he began, staring at the ground as she listened attentively.

'Have you told her yet?' Laurè asked.

Celeborn grimaced awkwardly.

'Well, no, not exactly,' he admitted. 'Not in so many words. But I do so want to tell her, to make her mine for the rest of our lives.'

Laurè laughed faintly.

'As far as I know, no one has ever managed to make Galadriel do anything,' she warned him, and watched as he hurriedly swallowed his words.

'I don't mean make her, but …' he trailed off, lost. 'You've made me lose my thread now.'

Her smile was still teasing as she looked at him.

'I'm sure you can pick it up again,' she told him. 'You want to tell her you love her?'

His face lit up.

'Yes, and I want to do it at the perfect moment,' he said. 'The only problem is, I don't know what the perfect moment would be, and I thought … well … you're a woman …'

'I'm glad you noticed,' she said dryly.

Celeborn gave her a look of exasperation.

'Help,' he pleaded softly, almost shyly.

Laurè smiled turned gentle as she looked at him, gazing up at her with the most desperate expression she had ever seen on his handsome face. Taking his hand in hers, she leant forward, determined not to interfere too much.

'Where do you spend most of your time with her?' she asked him.

Celeborn didn't even have to think too long to give her an answer.

'The border of the wood, by the lake,' he told her.

'Why?'

This question made him think a little harder before answering, but it seemed worth it.

'Because it is the most beautiful place in Lindon,' he said softly, his eyes distant, no doubt recalling the many hours he had spent there with the woman he loved. 'When the sun sets, it casts golden light across the water, and that reflects up and onto the trees around us. When I look at her in that light, I cannot imagine a more wonderful place to be in all the world, and thanks to you, that's saying a lot.'

Laurè smiled, hearing his love of the place in his voice.

'Don't you think that is the perfect place?' she asked. 'And the perfect time?'

He stared at her for a moment before allowing his lips to quirk in a sheepish smile.

'Yes, I suppose,' he said thoughtfully. 'But how can I work up the courage to tell her?'

'I think you'll find it comes more easily than you think,' Laurè told him gently. 'Just let your heart tell you when. I don't think it will lead you far astray.'

His smile deepened as he thought about it, and he looked up at her with grateful eyes, rising to embrace her.

'Thank you,' he murmured. 'I don't know what I did to deserve so good a friend, but I won't let you down, Laure, I swear.'

She grinned.

'See that you don't,' she said teasingly. 'The last thing I need is for you to come back and tell me all about your broken heart.'

He laughed with her then, buoyed up by her apparent certainty that he could not go wrong. They were interrupted by soft footsteps as Galadriel approached.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' she apologised, trying not to let her wide smile linger with Celeborn. 'I'll come back when you're free, Laurè.'

Still smiling with a mixture of happiness at Laurè's words and joy at seeing Galadriel, Celeborn stopped her, rising with a final look of gratitude to their friend.

'No, please stay,' he called to her, waiting until she had returned to the little clearing before continuing. 'I was about to leave anyway.'

Galadriel's face fell slightly, but soon brightened as he took her hands. Laurè carefully turned away, tuning her ears out so that she didn't intrude upon what was obviously a tender moment. From the corner of her eye, she saw Galadriel smile and nod, and the gentle kiss Celeborn placed on her cheek before leaving her to take a seat beside her friend. She turned back, and swallowed a smile at the love struck look on her friend's face.

'So, what brings you to my side?' she asked lightly. 'I'd have thought you would have forgotten what I look like by now.'

The look of guilt that crossed Galadriel's face made her regret her light words.

'I didn't mean it like that,' she began, but was cut off by her friend.

'I know you didn't, but you're right,' she said. 'I'm sorry, Laurè, I haven't meant to ignore you, but …'

Laurè gave her an understanding smile.

'I know,' she said gently, 'the call of the handsome Celeborn is too strong to resist.'

Galadriel gave her a quick grin.

'That's no excuse for abandoning your friends,' she insisted, obviously berating herself inwardly for not noticing her friend's loneliness. 'I shouldn't have forgotten you. It's just, you know, you're always here if I need you, so I guess I haven't been as friendly as I could have been.'

'It's alright, Ri, I understand,' Laurè assured. 'You have other things on your mind right now. Enjoy it while it lasts, I might be off soon in any case.'

Galadriel frowned in curiosity.

'Why?' she asked. 'What's happened?'

Laurè shrugged.

'These reports of a stranger in Eregion,' she told her thoughtfully. 'I don't know, I've just got the feeling I need to see him for myself. It's something that I can't remember, so I don't know if it's a good or a bad thing.'

Galadriel nodded, understanding if not happy about her friend's announcement.

'You're not going for a while, though, are you?' she asked. 'Only I think I'm going to need you here for a couple of weeks, at least.'

'What makes you think that?' Laurè asked her, suppressing her own worries to give her friend her full attention.

Galadriel looked away, down at her feet for a moment, before raising her eyes once more.

'I think I'm in love,' she said softly, her eyes shining. 'Really, truly in love. It's not like anything I've ever felt before, Laurè. It's strong and deep; I can't think of anything but him.'

Laurè didn't need to ask who he was, knowing it better than Galadriel herself.

'And?' she prompted, wanting to know what her friend was going to do about it.

Galadriel gave her an abashed smile.

'I want to tell him,' she said. 'I want him to know how much I love him, but … it never seems the right time to say it. I mean, he's just asked me to meet him by the lake at sunset, but what if it ends up in an awkward silence, like all the other times I've tried to tell him?'

Laurè smiled to herself, a secretive expression that was lost on her companion.

'Somehow, I don't think it will,' she told her. 'Just let it happen, Ri. Everything else will fall into place, I suspect.'

Galadriel looked sceptical.

'You think?' she asked. 'After all, I'm not exactly well-versed in affection, am I?'

Laurè laughed, knowing all too well how uncomfortable her friend had always been with affection.

'I know you can do affection, Ri,' she said firmly. 'And I'm fairly certain you haven't been shy with Celeborn, if the look of constant surprise on his face is anything to go by.'

Galadriel had the decency to look embarrassed.

'Okay, you've got me there,' she admitted. 'I dunno, I guess I'm just nervous. What if he rejects me?'

Laurè let herself smile.

'Trust me, that's the one thing he won't do,' she assured her friend. 'No more buts, mind, let things happen.'

Galadriel sighed softly, allowing a small smile to break across her face.

'Are you sure you can't remember anything to do with this?' she asked curiously.

Laurè put on a face of shock.

'Would I do a thing like that?' she gasped, careful not to lie to her friend.

Galadriel watched her for a moment, and her smile deepened,

'No, I suppose not,' she laughed, rising to her feet. 'I should probably go and make myself lovely for Celeborn.'

'Mmmm,' Laurè agreed, picking up her half-finished bow. 'And I suppose I should finish this. Knock his socks off.'

Laughing, Galadriel left her to it. Laurè went back to her bow, smiling to herself over the intrigues of love. That was one problem she would never have, she thought, at least at the way things were going.


	6. A Time To Search

Right, just to warn you there's an explicit swear word in this one, so don't read it if such things offend!

* * *

Chapter Six – A Time to Search

Laurè sat on the windowsill, her mind whirling from the onslaught of memory, and yet she knew there was so much more to come. The marriage of Celeborn and Galadriel had been a celebrated event, attended by almost every Elf who could come, and welcomed by everyone. Even the Galadhrim had turned out in force to celebrate their leader's wedding, forming an honour guard for the groom. Haldir, Orophin's brother, had joked that it was in case he got cold feet and had to be forced to the altar. On the other hand, Laurè had been given the sole responsibility of getting Galadriel there looking presentable and not about to run off. That had been quite a task, as she recalled, but everything had turned out well. With her two closest friends married and enjoying the experience, she had decided she could afford to be away for a while, and had packed up to visit the Elves of Eregion, and see for herself this Annatar who had made himself such a friend of the craftsmen.

The journey was not hard, and she had arrived in good time, greeted by Celebrimbor, who had made a place for her in his home for the duration of her stay. Despite her initial wariness, she had found herself impressed by Annatar, his form and address, and even attracted by his fair form. In retrospect, she could see how foolish she had been to allow good looks and charm to blind her to the memories trying to warn her of the disaster that was at hand. But at the time, she had been charmed by him, even befriended, and had found his company pleasant at the very least. There had been no doubt in her mind, even when he had included her in his explanation to Celebrimbor of his plan to create nineteen Rings of Power, to be distributed freely among the races of Middle-earth.

The whole project would take around twenty to thirty years, since the Elves had not yet perfected their art of imbuing metals with magical properties. She looked back with deep regret on the meetings she had attended with Celebrimbor and Annatar, and her input in the decisions about the distribution of the rings for when they were made. It had been her idea to give only three to the Elves, on the basis that they had power of their own anyway, and only seven to the Dwarves, who seemed to have no need for magic in their underground ways. Annatar had tried to convince them to give more than nine to Men, but Celebrimbor had pushed for only the kings to be given the power, stressing the corruptibility of Men through the years. She was thankful that it had not been her to decide who should have the rings, for she would never have forgiven herself for the danger that fell upon the Ring-bearers in the years that followed.

When the news reached her that Galadriel was expecting a child, she had hurried back to Lindon, full of news, and eager to be at her side during her pregnancy. The sight of her old friend settled into domesticated life had certainly been a surprise, however wonderful, and she had been touched to see how Celeborn looked after her as she grew heavy with child. When tiny Celebrían was born, the whole kingdom rejoiced, welcoming the newborn with as much love as they could muster. Galadriel had convinced her to stay and help her raise her daughter, pretending to need the help when Laurè could see for herself how much she loved her daughter. She had stayed as Celebrían grew, happy to be the child's eccentric aunt, full of stories of the world outside Lindon and how it had changed as the years turned. When the child turned fourteen, the little family relocated to Eregion, along with most of the Galadhrim, leaving Lindon as the domain of the few Half-Elves who lived there.

Laurè smiled to remember those years, the carefree joy of each day. There was anger there too, anger at herself for allowing Annatar to have a place in the child's growth. She knew all too well that at the time she had no suspicions, but still she could not forgive herself for letting him so close to the people she loved. It was during those final years of Celebrían's youth that Galadriel was given Nenya, the Ring of Adamant and of Water, and she had worn it like a badge of honour, proud to have been chosen as a Ring-bearer. And why shouldn't she be, Laurè wondered, when it was indeed a mark of how honoured she was among the Elves.

The first inkling she had had that something was terribly wrong had been when Celebrimbor, dressed in robes of ceremony, had processed through Eregion, bearing a gift for Galadriel …

* * *

The noise of so many people trying to be as quiet as possible distracted Laurè from her lessons with Celebrían. The young elf-maiden was trying very hard to learn Westron and having little luck, especially since her mind so often strayed to a certain dark-haired Half-Elf these past few months. Laurè had no doubt that Elrond's thoughts were often on Galadriel's daughter as well, but for now, she pushed aside those musings to concentrate on the events taking place before them.

Celebrimbor walked straight to Galadriel and knelt before her, his tiny ribbon-wrapped gift held high in his hands. Galadriel glanced at her husband, and over at Laurè, before bending to help their old friend to his feet.

'Do not kneel to me, my friend,' she said softly. 'Whatever has brought you to my door can be told as equals, for I am no better than you.'

Celebrimbor rose, almost beaming at the honour he seemed to think had been bestowed upon him.

'My lady,' he said formally, bowing his head to her. 'I have to come to present you with the last of the Elves of Eregion's great task. You have been chosen to bear the last of the Elven Rings of Power, as befits your rank amongst us. All Elves know and revere your name, and it is for your great deeds for us that we present you with Nenya, Ring of Adamant and Water, to be borne by you until the end of your days.'

As Laurè watched in mounting horror, he placed the little package into Galadriel's hands, stepping back to allow her to open it. Laurè could not quell the sudden beating of her heart. The name – Nenya – had stirred a memory in her that could not be suppressed. In her mind's eye, she saw war and death, the hordes of Sauron overrunning Middle-earth, killing all in their path. Without thinking, she gripped the hand of Celebrían tightly, causing the young she-elf to gasp.

'Laurè, what is wrong?' she asked softly, her eyes on the Ring that lay glittering in her mother's hand. 'Isn't it wonderful? That mother should be chosen to bear one of only three Rings given to the Elves?'

'_Three Rings for the Elven kings under the sky … seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone … nine for Mortal Men … doomed to die …'_

Laurè's eyes widened as the snatch of verse came back to her, and she suddenly knew Annatar for who he was; Sauron, the Deceiver, the Dark Lord come again. A vision of a single gold band, spinning in fire, filled her mind, and upon it she saw there were markings. But she did not need to read them to know what was written there.

'One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to find them,' she breathed, hardly able to watch as her friend placed Nenya on her finger. 'One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them … oh no …'

Leaving Celebrían's side, she pushed her way over to Celebrimbor, taking him by the shoulders in her urgency.

'The other Rings, have they been given out already?' she demanded.

Surprised, it took him a moment to answer.

'Why, yes, my lady, some years ago,' he told her. 'Annatar insisted that this be the last given. He wanted you to see your friend honoured in such a way.'

Laurè gasped in sudden fear. Sauron knew her for what she was; he knew she could see ahead to his plans. Why else would he make sure there was nothing she could do to prevent the war that was to come? Galadriel stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder.

'Laurè, what is it?' she asked, worried. 'What has happened?'

Laurè turned to her, eyes wild.

'I have to go,' she said urgently. 'Tonight, before any harm comes of this.'

Celebrimbor laughed, a little nervously.

'Harm, my lady?' he scoffed lightly. 'What harm can come of Elven craft?'

She gave him a hard look.

'More harm that you could possibly imagine,' she hissed, whirling away from them and hurrying to her room.

She began throwing things into a pack, changing into her travelling clothes, and strapping Angùrei to her hip. When she emerged once more, the Elves were still there, watching her with wary eyes and chattering amongst themselves. Only Galadriel approached her, albeit with some trepidation.

'Laurè, tell me,' she beseeched. 'What is wrong?'

Laurè only shook her head as she swung up into the saddle.

'I dare not,' she told her friend. 'I must see for myself, first. I will return, I swear.'

And with those words, she rode off, out of the realm of Eregion, her destination clearly the lands of Men in Westernesse.

* * *

It was here that the memories turned dark, even though there was one more moment of joy before the darkness of Sauron fell over them. When she had heard the name of her friend's ring, Laurè had realised something was wrong, but by that time, all nineteen of the rings had been made and distributed, and there had been nothing she could do to prevent the bearers from wearing them. The rhyme had kept repeating itself in her mind, and she knew something awful was going to come of the making of these Rings, because she had made the connection between the fair stranger, Annatar, and the deceiver, Sauron. Laurè lifted a piece of parchment to her face, reading it in the moonlight.

'_Three Rings for the Elven Kings under the sky,_

_Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,_

_Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,_

_One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne_

_In the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie._

_One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them_

_One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them_

_In the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie …'_

This was the rhyme that had so haunted her in those dark years, the rhyme she had caused to be written down and passed into legend and myth. She had never stopped blaming herself for the forging of the Rings, knowing as she did the extent of the destruction they would cause.

The kings of Men who had taken the Rings would not listen to her, turning her from their doors, showing her the signs of the corruption that had taken hold in their hearts. Just a look at them had told her that they were lost, their minds gone to darkness and their bodies soon to follow. Some had already fallen to shadow, leaving behind them kingdoms wracked by civil war, and too weak to withstand assault from without.

The Dwarves had, at least, listened to what she had to say, allowed her to examine their Rings, and see for herself the power at work. But their answer to the problem had been to shut the doors to their underground kingdoms, even those of Khazad-dûm, which ever after was known as Moria, which in Elvish meant 'dark hole', a testament to how angry the Elves were at being abandoned to fight Sauron alone, for they had not known that the kingdoms of Men would join them when their plight grew desperate.

Even now, Laurè could feel the terror that had coursed through her veins during those long days of hard riding, the despair that had surged through her as she thought on her own part in bringing this great evil upon the world. She had no idea how long it would be before Sauron forged the One Ring of his making, but she had known that however long it took, it would not be enough time to build bridges between the Races strong enough to withstand the deadly attack that would come. She had ridden with all speed back to Eregion, trying to push back the images of her home in ruins, as it would be in the years to come. She had known Sauron would strike quickly, once his strength was complete, at the place of the forging, and she had determined to warn her friends of the imminent danger, even if they believed her mad. One person, she knew, would believe every word, and it was to Galadriel she ran on the eve of Celebrían's wedding, knowing no one else she could turn to …

* * *

Galadriel was waiting for her, standing at the edge of the woods that enclosed Eregion as Laurè rode up, reining her horse in as she drew level with her friend. One glance told her that Galadriel had already worked out what the problem was. Nenya was no longer on her hand.

'I've been worried sick about you,' Galadriel snapped, embracing her friend roughly. 'Do you have any idea how much you scared us, running off like that? Celeborn's started pacing again, and you know he hasn't done that for years.'

Laurè could only offer an apologetic smile.

'I had to see for myself what was happening,' she explained, and gestured to her friend's hand. 'Where is Nenya?'

Galadriel's face darkened.

'In a box by my bedside,' she said shortly. 'And you've no idea how insulted Celebrimbor was when he noticed I wasn't wearing it.'

Laurè snorted softly.

'I can guess,' she muttered, swearing under her breath. 'I've fucked up royally this time.'

At this, Galadriel turned her around, gripping her shoulders tightly and forcing her to look into her eyes.

'Listen to me,' she said firmly. 'This is not your fault. You can't be expected to remember every little detail, especially details that weren't a huge part of the story. Yes, you should have been a little more cautious, but there's nothing we can do about that now. We just have to decide what to do with the time that is left to us.'

With those words, Laurè was ushered into Galadriel's home, where Celeborn almost crushed her in a warm embrace, echoing his wife's greeting as he did so. Elrond stood in the corner, nodding sternly to her as she offered him a weary nod over Celeborn's shoulder. Galadriel's husband pulled away, staring her straight in the eye.

'How dare you scare me like that?' he demanded. 'You could at least have explained yourself before going.'

Laurè gave him a weak, weary smile.

'You definitely wouldn't have let me go if I had,' she joked half-heartedly, barely aware of the meaningful look shared over her head as she sat down, shedding her cloak and sword as she did so.

'Are you alright?' Galadriel asked, moving to sit beside her.

'Yes,' Laurè assured her. 'I'm just tired. I've been riding hard for days now.'

Celeborn and Elrond sat opposite, leaning forward in curiosity.

'Where did you go?' the Half-Elf asked, his handsome face creased in concern for his friend.

Laurè let her eyes wander to the window, where she could see the forges still glowing red in the evening gloom. A wave of unbearable longing for this not to have happened swept over her, and must have shown in her face, for Galadriel wrapped an arm about her shoulders as Celeborn slipped his hands over hers. After a long moment, heavy with grief, she spoke.

'I went to the lands of Men, to the kingdoms Celebrimbor gave the Nine Rings to,' she told them, a bitter smile twisting her lips. 'But I was too late. Three have fallen to shadow already, neither living nor dead, and their kingdoms falling to ruin. As for the others, I was turned from their gates before even laying eyes upon them, but I spoke with their captains. They each report that the king has become hard and cruel, looking each day more like a wraith than a living breathing being. It is too late for the kings of Men. In the years to come, they will rise as the Nazgûl, and serve as Sauron's foulest minions.'

She watched Celeborn's face as he frowned in confusion, looking from her to his wife and back again, and realised that he did not know of the events she was speaking. It seemed there were some things Galadriel had not shared with the one she loved. She glanced at her friend, who was warning her husband with a look to save his questions for later, and almost smiled for the first time in weeks to see her so clearly the matriarch of her little home. But Elrond did not look at all surprised, merely worried, and she remembered that he, of all the Elves, had had the greatest gift of Foresight, next to Galadriel. No doubt he had seen it coming too.

'And the Dwarves?' Galadriel asked, ignoring the deepening frown on Celeborn's face.

Laurè laughed mirthlessly.

'If anything, they are worse than Men,' she spat, anger mixing with despair in her tone. 'They listened to me, every one of them, but they would not heed my words. They tried to destroy the Rings, despite my telling them it could not be done. When that didn't work, they threw me out and sealed the doors behind me … even the doors of Khazad-dûm, from whence I have come tonight. They intend to sit this out, as if the Eye of Sauron cannot see through stone and metal to where they are hiding from the evil that is upon us.'

Celeborn's eyes darkened and he cursed softly.

'Let them stay in their halls of Moria,' he muttered angrily. 'Let them rot in the graves they have dug for themselves.'

Laurè raised her eyes to his.

'Do not blame them,' she said softly. 'They don't understand what is happening. If I were in their place, I should probably try to hide myself, but unlike us, they don't know what lurks in the depths of their mines. I fear if they delve too deep in search of peace, they will find only death and fire.'

Galadriel nodded, drawing in a sharp breath as she remembered the shape that would now haunt their dreams, the creatures she had fought in the wars against Morgoth and had almost lost her life to.

'The Balrogs,' she breathed. 'Fire and evil and hatred, all rolled into a living harbinger of death.'

'That's the one,' Laurè agreed. 'A not so small pain in the arse.'

The room fell silent as they each remembered the horror of the Wars, each contemplating what war now would mean for them. But Laurè had no need to contemplate, she _knew_ what was coming; that Sauron's attempt to completely annihilate the free races of Middle-earth would almost come to fruition but for one king in the lands of Westernesse, the king she knew would not be born for many years to come, who would become the greatest Elf-friend in Middle-earth but who ultimately would cause longer suffering for those who walked her fair surface. Feeling eyes on her, she looked up and found Elrond gazing intently at her.

'What have you seen, my lady?' he asked softly.

Galadriel looked at him sharply, and followed his gaze to Laurè who was looking back at him with barely concealed terror.

'Laurè doesn't share much of what she sees,' she said, trying to draw the pressure off her friend. 'Not even with me.'

Elrond nodded, not taking his eyes off Laurè's. She felt trapped by his stare, unable to look away as he waited for his question to be answered.

'Too much,' she murmured, her voice trembling. 'So much, it hurts.'

Elrond watched her for a few moments longer and nodded, releasing her from his piercing gaze.

'Then the question remains,' he said, suddenly taking charge. 'What do we do now?'

Celeborn looked at his friend sternly, as if asking him with his eyes what he was doing. Laurè glanced at Galadriel, catching the almost imperceptible nod in reply.

'We can only wait,' she said softly. 'Wait and prepare our armies, if they will listen to us.'

Elrond made a small sound of agreement.

'I cannot guarantee that Gil-galad will listen to me, but I will try to make him see what is coming,' he told them.

Galadriel rose, a determined look on her face.

'You're not doing anything until you have enjoyed a decent honeymoon with Celebrían,' she declared firmly. 'There's nothing we will be able to do until the One Ring is forged, and that won't be for …'

She looked at Laurè to finish her sentence, which she did.

'We have at least a few hundred years before everything goes horribly wrong,' she told them confidently. 'The Men will have to fall completely under the Shadow, and Sauron will have to gather however many of the Rings he can before he starts to take over Middle-earth. We have to make sure he doesn't get any of the Elven Rings. They can't be touched by darkness, or we will never be able to destroy the Dark Lord.'

Celeborn stood slowly, moving to stare out of the window deep in thought. Laurè didn't dare say anymore, exhausted from her long ride and this fearful conversation. She pushed herself to her feet, stretching slightly.

'Anyway, there's nothing we can do tonight,' she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. 'And I hear there's a wedding tomorrow, so we can't have three of the main attractions looking like death warmed up. Go and get some sleep.'

She made for the door, retrieving her cloak and sword as she slipped out into the night. She could hear them still talking behind her, but they obviously knew she wanted nothing more tonight. She rolled out her blankets, settling herself down in some comfort against her horse's belly. It was only fractionally warmer, but the company, combined with the lack of speech, was what she wanted tonight. But she knew it would be a long time before she slept.


	7. A Time To Weep

Chapter Seven – A Time to Weep

Below, the sounds of merry-making had long since diminished and Laurè felt no real regret at not having been a part of it. She had other things on her mind, including the return of Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond and beloved Celebrían's sons. They had not been looked for, and the news they carried was grave, though not wholly unexpected. War was returning to Middle-earth and in a manner not unlike the rumblings that had begun before the War of Sauron and the Free Peoples of Middle-earth.

Laurè had been right about one thing, at least; it had taken several hundred years for Sauron to finally make his move. During that time, the One Ring had been forged, and the Three hidden from view. The nine Nazgûl had risen, Ringwraiths who revelled in their newfound dark powers. Between them, they had gathered four of the Seven Rings given to the Dwarves, the others lost and unobtainable to anyone, swallowed by the great dragons in their lust for gold. The Lonely Mountain of Erebor had been taken by Smaug, the Dwarves cast out, and the world of Men teetered on the brink of self-destruction but for the hard work of a few good Men. However, not everything in that time was bad, Laurè recalled with a smile. Celebrían had given birth to twin sons, and that in itself was a time of great joy among the Elves. But Laurè's part in that joy was short-lived, for she was called away to witness the birth of another child, a prince of Men, who would sire a line that would finally culminate in a boy named Elendil. From the moment of his birth, this prince was called Elf-friend, and Laurè spent many years among his kin, teaching him to respect her people, to call them friend. And when he had married, and the rumblings and rumours from Mordor grew more plentiful, Laurè returned to her own kind in Eregion, to prepare them for war.

But she had been too late. She was not heeded, nor were her friends, and the consequences were disastrous. The first attack had been swift and unannounced, the Elves of Eregion taken completely by surprise in the dead of night. Laurè remembered being jolted from a fitful sleep, rolling from her bed with Angùrei in hand, ready to fight by instinct alone if need be. She could remember the sounds of fighting close by, the screams of those cut down by blade and arrow, and had hastened to pull her armour on before running to assist her kin in the defence of their home. She could remember hearing Galadriel shout for the children to be made safe, for them to be taken away to safety as the men and women of the city crashed into battle with a horde of snarling, screaming Orcs. They had fought hard, well into daylight, but there had been no hope. There were too many Orcs, and too few Elves, by the time the battle ended, and the Elves had disappeared into the shadows of the Misty Mountains, to regroup and prepare for the next attack. They had had no time in which to do so, hunted by Orcs every waking moment, until barely more than a hundred of the Galadhrim and Eregion smiths remained. If Elrond had not managed to muster a force of Elves from Lindon, they would have been completely destroyed, slaughtered to a man. As it was, less than four hundred Elves survived the first attack on the great kingdom, and they had lost Celebrimbor and most of the leading figures in their society.

They had fought the Orcs and Nazgûl for centuries, striking hard from their hiding places deep within the mountains above what had once been Eregion. With each attack, Sauron grew stronger and the Elves lost more of their number by the day. And then came the wonderful day when they learned of others who were fighting alongside them, that they hadn't been forgotten …

* * *

Laurè leapt for cover, stifling her shriek of pain as an arrow slammed into her ankle. Friendly hands grabbed her, pulling her further into their hiding place as Orcs stormed past, many feet thudding on soft dirt and hard rock. As the dust settled around them, Laurè let out the hiss of pain that had been bubbling up inside her, startling the Elves huddled around her. Galadriel crawled over to them, stifling a gasp at the sight of the cruel arrow sticking askance out of her friend's angle.

'Bloody hell, that looks painful,' she exclaimed softly, barely tracing the black shaft with a trembling finger.

Laurè gave her a pale, teeth-clenched smile.

'Surprisingly enough, it is,' she managed, pulling her leg up to inspect the wound. 'Oh gods … where's Orophin?'

Galadriel frowned.

'Why?'

'Because he's the only one who's strong enough to pull that thing out,' she said tightly. 'And someone's going to have to hold me down.'

Galadriel stared at her for a long moment.

'I can't believe you're talking about this so calmly,' she said, in a horrified tone.

Laurè looked sick.

'If I don't talk I'll pass out,' she told her friend, watching as Galadriel nodded in concern and crawled off, presumably to find Orophin and his brothers.

They were never without each other; though Haldir could have had a command of his own by now, his brothers were never given a place in his troop, and he always refused. She smiled, ignoring the pain for a moment, thinking of Galadriel's plans to build a city for the Galadhrim, and the positions of power she had in mind for her friends. There had been quite a long argument when she had declared Laurè would be her Marchwarden, since Laurè was fairly certain she wouldn't be in Lothlórien for very long at a time. Haldir would make a much better choice, she knew, and Galadriel had agreed finally, stating that she wouldn't accept him if his brothers didn't come as a part of the deal. So she had several pieces of the future all sorted for when the real trouble came along in a few thousand years.

There was a rustling nearby, and the three brothers came crawling through the brush, each averting their eyes from the arrow sticking out of her ankle. She sent them a brave smile, and gasped as they got to it straight away. Laurè found herself lying flat on her back, with Rùmiel kneeling on her shoulders and holding her arms, and Haldir sat on her legs, conveniently blocking her view of what Orophin was doing. Galadriel forced a bit of wood between her teeth as she felt the agonising pain of a hand gripping the shaft and ripping it out. She bit down hard on the wood, feeling it splinter in her mouth as she dug her nails into Rùmiel's hands, trying not to pass out from the pain.

She must have passed out, though, because she woke up back in their camp, her foot bandaged up and throbbing, and her head feeling like many Oliphants were dancing the mamba around the inside. From vague memories of heat and discomfort, she pieced together her recent history, rediscovering the fact that she had lain in a fever for a good few days since the last time she was fully conscious. She experimentally wiggled her toes, and gasped at the pain that washed through her, making her head swim.

A familiar voice greeted her as Galadriel came into view.

'You're awake then,' she said cheerfully, but there was an edge to her tone that Laurè didn't like much. 'We thought you were never going to wake up.'

She sat on the edge of the bedroll, very obviously looking anywhere but Laurè's eyes as she sat up.

'What's wrong?' Laurè asked flatly.

Galadriel glanced down at her foot, idly playing with the loose end of the bandage.

'You know, we got a message from Gondor while you were sleeping,' she said softly. They want an alliance –'

'I know,' Laurè interrupted, her voice tight. 'Tell me what's wrong.'

'Nothing, there's nothing wrong,' Galadriel protested unconvincingly, her expression turning to one of quiet panic.

'Ri, we've known each other for years,' Laurè said. 'I know when you're lying to me.'

Her friend had the decency to colour, clearly ashamed of herself, but still unable to meet her eyes. She leant forward, suddenly afraid of whatever it was that was being hidden from her but more determined to discover it.

'It's about my ankle, isn't it,' she said, and it wasn't a question. 'Tell me, please … I need to know.'

Finally Galadriel's eyes lifted to hers, albeit reluctantly.

'The healers …' she began, then stopped, obviously deciding to try a different tack. 'They said there was a high risk of infection, and if it did get infected, they'd have to cut your leg off to save your life. Trouble is, they think it's already infected.'

She looked relieved to have said it. Laurè stared at her for a long moment, and her expression changed to one of stubborn impatience.

'Oh, sod _that_,' she declared. 'I know more about healing than they do.'

She looked suspiciously at the bandages on her foot, which on closer inspection looked filthy.

'How long has it been since these were changed?' she asked.

Galadriel shrugged.

'I don't know,' she admitted. 'Not since you came down with that fever … about two weeks, I suppose.'

'_Two weeks?_' Laurè almost shrieked. 'Get them off _now_.'

Even after thousands of years of knowing her friend's moods and tempers, Galadriel was clearly still afraid enough of her anger to do as she was told. As she uncovered the wound, the smell of rotting flesh filled the air. Laurè watched with interest as her friend's face turned sickly pale as the familiar stench invaded her nostrils. Ignoring the pain, she hauled herself forward to inspect the wound. It was red raw and bleeding, the edges where the skin had died blackened and necrotic.

'Gods, hasn't anyone even cleaned this?' Galadriel gasped, shocked. 'No wonder they wanted to chop it off.'

Laurè nodded absently, gently testing the flesh with a practised finger. She looked up at her friend.

'Can I ask you a big favour?' she asked, watching in bewilderment as Galadriel rose to her feet and made for the tent flap.

'I'm way ahead of you,' she said, her voice a little nasal from the effort of trying to block out the smell. 'What will I need?'

Laurè looked speculatively at the wound.

'Lots of hot water, clean pads and bandages, and a sharp knife,' she said thoughtfully, only slightly surprised when these orders were delivered with every sign of authority to whoever was standing watch outside.

The items were duly fetched, and somehow Celeborn appeared, bullying the three healers of the camp into watching as Galadriel was talked through cleaning Laurè's wound, cutting away the dead skin and dressing it to her satisfaction. Despite their protests, they were then summarily dismissed, denied even a moment to inspect the work.

Laurè lay back, far more relaxed now than she had been when she'd woken.

'Now then,' she said, grinning at the proud smile on Galadriel's face, 'what's all this about Gondor?'

* * *

Laurè grinned to herself, resting her chin on her knees as she looked up at the stars above her. That had been one of the best bits of news she'd heard in all her long life. Men had joined the fight against Sauron and his armies, and had offered the hand of friendship to them with a smile. But despite this, she and Galadriel had had to bully the leaders of their own people into accepting the offer, which in itself was a measure of how well respected they had both become over the years. Yet even with the Last Alliance in place, even with all the victories Men and Elves won, it was many years before they were able to look to a battle that could finally end it all.

Laurè could remember the horror of the battle on the slopes of Orodruin. It had been more terrifying than anything she had ever faced before. She had been in many other battles, both before and since, but nothing could ever compare with the total destruction meted out that day. She had been nowhere near Elendil and Gil-Galad when they were struck down, and had not heard of Isildur's bravery until later. All she remembered was a deafening roar of outrage and pain, and being knocked to the ground by a massive tidal wave of released power. In the confusion that followed, she remembered the orcs and goblins running in fright, heedless of the warriors cutting them down as they ran, and a blade that burned like poisoned ice driving deep into her thigh.

In fact, that was all she remembered, followed by days of drifting in and out of consciousness, haunted by a longing for something she could not recognise and a sudden hatred for everyone she knew and loved. But it was Galadriel's voice that drew her back to the light, and the news that their victory was not as complete as they had hoped …

* * *

Laurè woke with a start, her eyes snapping open to stare, uncomprehending, at a ceiling she vaguely recognised. After several minutes of mapping the knotholes and boards that made up the arched roof above her, she sighed softly and rolled over, aware that something wasn't quite right with herself. For one thing, her senses seemed sharper; she could hear not just voices beyond the door she spied across the room, but identify the people speaking and what they were talking about. A brief memory of pain flashed into her mind, and her hand slid down to touch the light bandage on her thigh. As her hand touched it, she had the awful feeling she was being watched, her mind filled with the vision of a great red eye, staring right through her. And she knew who it was … Sauron, the one they had defeated on the slopes of his own mountain, and who was just as clearly still in existence. At that moment, she knew they had not destroyed the Ring, lying back with a weary sigh. It had been the only chance to stop the cycle, and now they were committed to another few thousand years of waiting and suffering until it could be completed.

Carefully, she flexed her leg, pleased to find it was not painful, just stiff, and slid out of the bed, dressing herself in the only thing to hand – yet another dress. Her hair was ignored, pushed back behind her shoulders as she shuffled stiffly across the room to open the door, and join the conversation going on in the next room.

Galadriel was glaring at Elrond, hands on hips as he stared at the floor, looking more like a child than she had ever seen him before. It was quite obvious that he had done something very wrong, and just as obvious that no one had noticed her entrance.

'What do you mean, he wouldn't do it?' Galadriel was demanding.

Elrond raised his head, and Laurè saw that his fabled temper was coming to the end of its fuse.

'Exactly what I said, my lady,' he said calmly. 'Isildur would not throw the Ring into the fires of Orodruin. There was nothing I could do to force him.'

Galadriel's eyes blazed, and as if on instinct, Celeborn took a step back.

'Nothing you could do?' she hissed. 'Nothing you could do? You had a sword, for Melian's sake, you could have cut his hand off!'

Elrond's face turned to stone.

'And what would that have accomplished exactly?' he snapped. 'Elves striking at Men when both races are weakened from fighting, war spreading through Middle-earth once more when we have no strength to fight anymore!'

'You could have lied to him!' Galadriel snapped back. 'Why wouldn't he throw it in?'

'I don't know!'

Despite the sight of her friends engaged in a potentially harmful argument, Laurè couldn't help smiling.

'I do,' she said softly.

Their heads snapped around, and the sense of relief rolling off them was palatable as they surged toward her. Galadriel wrapped her in a tight hug, followed swiftly by the two men as she was led to a seat, fussed over as if she were only a few moments from death. She waved them away, laughing at their concern.

'I'm fine, I swear,' she told them.

Elrond knelt before her, searching her eyes for some sign that she was not as she seemed.

'Lady, we thought we had lost you,' he said, and Laurè was touched by how concerned he seemed. 'Your wound was something we had not seen before. You have been drifting in and out of consciousness for days. I know no blade that would cause such a wound.'

Laure smiled ruefully.

'That's because for the moment there is only one creature that wields it,' she told him. 'It is what will be called a Morgul blade. The victim is not killed, but passes into the shadow realm, to become as the Nazgûl, a mere wraith, full of longing for the one Ring.'

Elrond frowned, not understanding.

'Then how is it that you are here with us?' he asked her. 'You are no wraith.'

Before Laurè could answer, Galadriel interrupted.

'Elvish magic,' she said softly, looking at her friend with suddenly comprehending eyes, and Laurè knew she had remembered something, finally, from the films so long ago. 'The Three are not touched by Sauron's evil, and they are the only things that can counter it.'

'Elves are not easily corrupted,' Celeborn added, obviously reaching the same conclusion as his wife, 'and you knew what was happening. You were able to fight it.'

Laurè shrugged.

'I don't know about that,' she said. 'All I remember is Galadriel telling me to come back to the light, and being so eager to follow her it hurt.'

Elrond was staring at them incredulously.

'But –'

Laurè cut him off.

'We've got enough to worry about without going over this again,' she said, not unkindly. 'Before anyone says it, I know what has – or hasn't – happened.'

Galadriel shot Elrond a dark look, and then looked guiltily at Laurè who gave her a stern frown.

'Arguing amongst ourselves isn't going to solve this problem,' she said firmly. 'There are other forces at work in this world than good and evil. Something tells me this was meant to happen. The Ring is bound to the Dark Lord; they are one. Until it is destroyed, he will never be, and it has a will of it's own. I do not think Isildur is himself any longer.'

She shared a meaningful look with Galadriel, who sighed disconsolately.

'So this is what we get for trying to change the course of the future,' she grumbled, cracking a grin as Laurè laughed softly. 'More waiting then.'

Laurè nodded.

'That's it,' she agreed. 'At least this time round, you should have more of an idea of what's going on.'

The two men looked confused as they shared a laugh, but Laurè's laughter was cut short by a twinge in her thigh, forcing her to sit down hurriedly. Galadriel's expression grew solemn.

'That will never fully heal, will it?' she asked softly, and Laurè shook her head.

'No,' she said, her voice quietly sad. 'I'm stuck with it for the rest of my life.'


	8. A Time To Love

Just so you know, the Elvish I've used over the next couple of chapters is a mix of Quenya and Sindarin, but it is mainly Sindarin. Oh and Angel of the Night Watchers, well done you! Good spot! No, it's not Haldir's brother, it was just a name that popped into my head. But all the same - all hail to the near encylopeadic knowledge going on in your head!

* * *

Chapter Eight – A Time to Love

In the small hours of the morning, Laurè touched the Morgul wound, seeing again the now familiar red eye staring down at her. It barely bothered her at all now, but in the years following her injury, it had prevented her from fighting. And she had been needed in the fighting that had followed. There had been wars aplenty even after Sauron had fallen, when the Witchking of the Nazgûl had led forces into the lands of men and created the kingdom of Angmar in the North, forcing out the Dunédain from their lands.

Isildur had been betrayed, and the One Ring lost, becoming legend and myth. The Elves faded into their own kingdoms, which became themselves legend among Men. Galadriel and Celeborn moved themselves and the Galadhrim to the great forest of Mallorn trees, where they built the great city of Caras Galadon amid the trees; Elrond took the remainder of the Elves of Eregion and a few of those from Lindon, and settled himself in the North, in a settlement that became known as the Last Homely House, Imladris, known as Rivendell throughout Middle-earth.

But shortly after he had settled there, tragedy struck the family. Whilst travelling from Imladris to Lothlórien, Celebrían was attacked and kidnapped by Orcs. Her sons, Elladan and Elrohir, had rescued her, but the wounds inflicted upon her proved too much to live with. After a year of suffering, she sailed to the Undying Lands, leaving behind her a grieving husband and her three children. Galadriel had been devastated by the loss of her daughter, but like Laurè, she had learnt to push grief to one side, concentrating on perfecting her arts to the point where she herself became a legend, even amongst Elves. She was comforted by her granddaughter's presence in Lothlórien during those long years. Arwen had grown tall and beautiful, likened to the legendary Luthìen, named the Evenstar by her people.

But Laurè had little time to dwell on these events, caught up in the battle to drive the Nazgûl from the lands of Men. It had taken them hundreds of years to drive him away, and had only been successful with the help of the Istari, wizards from across the seas, who had been sent to help them prepare Middle-earth for the years to come. She had become great friends with Mithrandir, the grey wizard Men called Gandalf, and had confided to him what would come to pass in as little detail as she could, not wanting to inform him of his near demise. Even then, she hadn't wanted to affect the course of the future, in case things didn't turn out as they needed to. But that last battle had disillusioned her so much … the death and destruction, the thousands of bodies littering that had once been green fields, so much life lost for what? A few more years of peace before the wars began again, before Sauron rose once more in search of his Ring.

As night had fallen on the battlefield, she had taken up Angùrei and walked into the darkness, not knowing where she was going, or how she would get back. At that point, she hadn't cared about anything; she had seen too much to take it all in, and the pain was too much for her heart to bear. How long she walked, she had never been able to say, only that the days had rolled into one another, her wounds went untended, and she continued walking, unseeing, through rain and wind and snow, until a gentle voice pulled her from her misery with kind words …

* * *

She was so cold, she was past shivering; so tired, she could barely hold her head up; so full of sorrow, she could not see ahead of herself. But there was a figure close by, wrapping a cloak about her numb shoulders; a soft deep voice coaxing her towards what seemed to be a building filled with a red glow … a fire, she hazily realised. And she realised, too, that the gentle voice was speaking in halting Sindarin, awfully accented, but welcome to her weary ears.

'Tolo hi; heniach nin?' it was asking.

Did she understand? She nodded; yes, she understood. She was supposed to go with whoever it was. Those gentle arms guided her into a room, sat her down by a fire, rubbing her frozen limbs through the sodden cloth of her tunic. She blinked away the snow from her eyelashes and looked up at her rescuer, seeing only that it was a man.

'Man eneth lín?' he asked her, stripping the leather jerkin from her now shivering form.

She managed a weary smile, though it did not touch her eyes. What use was it to him to know her name? But then, what harm could it do to tell him? He did not seem to want to hurt her, though at this point, she really didn't care what happened to her. In fact, she would have welcomed pain, if only to remind herself that she was still alive.

'Nin estar Laurè,' she managed, her voice hoarse from misuse.

The man seemed to smile, never stopping in his gentle ministrations. He spoke to her gently, telling her that he needed to get her warm, that he did not mean to hurt her, but all that really stuck in her tired mind was his name; Aldamar. He left her alone for a while, stripped of her soaked clothes and wrapped in several blankets to shiver beside the fire as he filled a bath with steaming water. Then he carefully drew her to the bath, taking the blankets from her, and lifted her in, holding her against the pain as the hot water burned her frozen skin. Slowly, though, the pain passed, and she grew warm again, light-headed from the pain and fatigue, her head lolling against the side of the bath. She was barely aware of it when he lifted her from the water, drying her off and dressing her in coarse cloth before laying her gently down in a bed. She was asleep almost immediately, with no thought for her kind saviour and the time he had taken to make her safe and warm.

She woke, hours later, to the sound of a hammer and anvil, her head filled with fog as she tried to digest what had happened to her. The bed she lay in was warm, if a little lumpy, and the room around her light and cosy, filled with personal belongings. Her tunic and trews lay on a chair beside the bed, clean and dry, Angùrei and her weapons beside them. She smiled faintly, trying to remember the face of the man who had taken her in goodness knew how long ago. Dressing stiffly in her clean clothes, she slipped from the room, carefully picking her way down what was almost a ladder into a large kitchen space. Ignoring the room for a moment, she made her way to the open door, hugging herself against the bitter cold as she looked out onto a snow-covered farm, seeking the man who had taken her in.

It was quite a small farm, though very well kept. The buildings stood stark against the snow, and she could pick out several outhouses gathered around a barn in which she could hear the sounds of animals snuffling about. The rhythmic sound of hammer on anvil was coming from one of the closer buildings; a forge, one wall open to the elements, and giving her a clear view of a tall young man, sweaty from his exertions, shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, and a look of somehow endearing concentration on his face. His brown hair brushed his collar, falling across his face as he worked. Laurè couldn't help but stare. She had managed, though no effort of her own, to find a man who was both kind and gentle, and handsome with it.

He didn't notice her approach, so intent was he on his task. She leaned in the doorway, rubbing her arms to keep off the chill as she watched him work, finding pleasure in seeing a Man working metal as the Elven smiths in Eregion once had. Now she was closer, she could see what he was working on; a slim knife blade, red hot from the fires of the forge as he beat it into shape. He lifted it from the anvil, plunging it deep into the water bucket beside him, and looked up, seeing her for the first time. A smile crossed his face as he took in her shivering form, a smile that she returned somewhat hesitantly as he moved towards her.

'Ah …' he began, seeming to stumble over his words before they even approached his mouth. 'Man … man marthach?'

She smiled again, this time at the shyness with which he spoke Sindarin.

'I feel fine,' she told him, seeing the relief in his face as she spoke in Westron. 'Thank you; you saved my life.'

He shook his head.

'No, lady,' he said quietly. 'Even I know Elves cannot die, even from the state you were in when I found you.'

Laurè's smile turned sad.

'I was in no danger from my wounds, sir,' she told him, her eyes distant. 'But I was heartsick. I'd stopped caring about anything … and then a gentle voice, and warm arms, took me in, and made me feel my life worth living once more.'

To her everlasting delight, he blushed, stammering that he had done nothing of the sort. She held up a hand, forestalling his words.

'I cannot die from old age or disease,' she said softly, 'but grief and battle can do what they cannot. You were kind to me when I had given up; that counts for a lot.'

He frowned slightly, obviously not understanding, but moved quickly towards her, ushering her towards the house.

'You're shivering, my lady,' he said, drawing her into the house. 'You shouldn't be out here in the cold. You're still vulnerable to chills.'

'My name is Laurè,' she told him. 'Please don't call me lady.'

He smiled again, moving over to the stove where a pot was bubbling.

'Well, I'm Aldamar … I'm afraid I'm not a fantastic cook,' he said apologetically. 'My cooking serves a purpose; it's not really very appetising most days.'

'I'm not really one for eating much, don't worry,' she tried to tell him.

'No, you need to eat,' he told her firmly, stirring whatever it was that was bubbling away.

As he bustled about, looking surprisingly domesticated, Laurè took the opportunity to have a look around the little house. She was sitting in a kitchen space, at a table that stood in the centre of the flagstone floor. Along one wall stood the stove and worktops, and in the corner, a door opened out onto a tiny larder where she could see boxes of vegetables and jars of preserves. Unusually for a farmhouse, there was a large window on another wall overlooking a large sink that was filled with an amusingly large pile of wet cloth … it seemed this perfect man was not quite so efficient as he first appeared. Behind her, a large fire crackled away, warming a pair of beaten about armchairs. It was a very lived in homey house, and Laurè was surprised to find herself feeling very safe and secure here.

Aldamar made a soft noise, and she turned to find him shaking his hand with a look of acute annoyance on his face.

'What's wrong?' she asked.

He gave her an abashed smile.

'Nothing, I burnt myself, that's all,' he said, sounding embarrassed as she rose to join him, taking the pot from his hands and putting it to one side, before taking his hand in hers and examining the red skin intently.

It wasn't a bad burn, Laurè knew, but she couldn't seem to stop touching his hand, turning it back and forth as he watched her. She was very aware of his gaze, and slowly became even more aware of the fact that her cheeks were burning under his watchful eyes. She glanced up, suddenly shy, and found him staring down at her, his dark eyes shining with some unknown emotion that nonetheless made her stomach flip. That in itself was a frightening feeling, and she found herself tensing, trying to explain it to herself.

Aldamar glanced away, obviously feeling just as awkward as she was, and gave her a half-smile.

'So … is it serious?' he asked, and Laurè found herself grasping at this escape from the awkward moment.

'Well, I don't know,' she said, trying to look thoughtful and failing completely. 'We may need to chop it off.'

He laughed, a deep rich sound that made her laugh along with him, dropping his hand easily as he turned to dish out some of his … mixture.

'Would you like a drink?' he asked pleasantly, and she accepted, not expecting anything more than water.

He handed her a mug of something bitter but strangely refreshing, and the meal was spent in companionable silence. However, an hour later, she was roaring drunk, and pouring out her life's story to a rapt audience, who was at least partly holding her on her chair as she swayed. She told him almost everything; the traditions and customs of her people; the friends she had made and lost; all about the Rings and Sauron; and finally, the last victory they had won against the Witchking, and how it had led to him finding her wandering outside his farm. The tears were running freely down her cheeks by the time she had finished, but she didn't feel the despair that had washed over her days before. It actually felt good to let it all out.

'Y'know,' she slurred, squinting at him through the alcoholic haze, 'this is the firs' time I've been drunk f'years … too much fighting, see, no time for fun …'

Aldamar was nodding understandingly, infuriating sober in comparison to her unfocused babbling.

'Yes, you told me about the fighting,' he said, looking more than a little surprised. 'More than ten thousand years of it, you said.'

She nodded sagely, blinking owlishly at him.

'Yup,' she agreed. 'I'm one tired ol' biddy, tha's me.'

He laughed, catching her as she slid unceremoniously off the chair. He lifted her to her feet, steadying her as he ducked to avoid her flailing hands.

'I think I'd better put you to bed,' he chuckled, ignoring the indignant look she threw at him as he picked her up.

'You drunk I'm think, don't you?' she demanded. 'A few drinks and suddenly I'm much more attractive.'

His grin certainly was attractive.

'Believe me, that really isn't the case,' he told her, hoisting her up the ladder to the bedchamber.

As he bent to lift her up again, Laurè fixed him with a drunken glare.

'Don' you get any funny ideas 'bout undressing me,' she warned him. 'I'm deadly … I'm like a cat full of bags.'

'I'm sure you are,' Aldamar said, and dropped her on the bed, pulling her boots off before covering her with the blankets. 'Now go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning.'

Laurè smiled hazily up at him and waved, sleep claiming her quickly as he turned to leave, still laughing softly to himself. Her last thought before sleep claimed her was that he really was a very nice boy.

* * *

In the stillness of the night, Laurè laughed again, this time the sound edged with sorrow and regret, but still a laugh that came from deep within, full of amusement at herself and her own behaviour the morning after her impromptu revelation. The hangover had been one in a million, she remembered, grimacing at the memory as her mind cast back to that morning, and the many mornings after spent in Aldamar's company. Though he'd tried hard not to, he'd found the sight of a hung over Elf extremely amusing for the first couple of hours, before finally taking pity on her and finding a cordial that eased the pain in her head somewhat. However, once the pain was gone, Laurè had had the horrifying task of dealing with her embarrassment at the way she had behaved the night before. Luckily for her, he never brought up the subject again; in fact, he had watched very carefully how much beer she drank, never allowing her to get into that state again, something for which she was very grateful.

The snow had been heavy that year, the roads un-navigable even by horse, and so Aldamar had offered her the opportunity to stay with him, at least until the passes were open once more. Having no other choice really, she had accepted, though if the truth were told, she would have accepted even if it had been high summer and she were under escort. There had been something about him she had found intriguing, something that called to her to stay with him for as long as she could.

There had been someone else calling as well, she recalled with a twinge of guilt. Every now and then, during those first few months on the farm, she had felt Galadriel's touch on her mind, and heard her friend's voice calling to her, begging her to answer. Even now she couldn't explain why she hadn't answered, why she hadn't put her friend's mind at ease by at least reassuring her that she was alright. It wasn't that she hadn't thought of her friends at all, more that she couldn't face them after disappearing from the battlefield and letting them believe her dead. Besides, after those first months the gentle tug from inside stopped, and she knew that even Galadriel had given up on her.

At first, the silence in her mind had been too painful to bear, and so she had thrown herself into work on the farm, lending a hand with whatever Aldamar needed doing. She had learnt quickly the rudimentaries of bringing up livestock and growing crops, and had taken his kitchen in hand, teaching him how to cook properly, and providing a free clothes-washing service for him. He had never once stopped thanking her for all the work she was putting in, and she, in turn, had never let him forget that he had saved her life.

When the spring of that year had finally come around, and the passes were clear once more, Laurè had found herself reluctant to leave. She had kept putting it off one day at a time, telling herself it was because she felt indebted to the young Man that she could not bring herself to go. But every time she reminded herself of the duty she had placed on herself all those years before, a treacherous little voice in her head had reminded her of all the things she had given up to fulfil that duty, and how she deserved to live her life for herself, even if it were only for a few years. Because she could not deny that living with Aldamar had made her feel wanted and secure again, and he had always seemed to appreciate the work that she did, as well as working alongside her, strength for strength, giving as good as he got in work and in play …

* * *

It was shaping up to be a warm summer, Laurè thought as she sat on the bench outside the little farmhouse, Angùrei across her knees, glistening in the sunlight, as she sharpened his edge. Her tunic and trews were more than a little worn and faded by now, so she had been reluctantly clad in some of Aldamar's sister's clothes, a hard-wearing shirt and skirt that felt surprisingly comfortable on her. When she had asked if his sister would mind, he had smiled, turning away as he told her that his family was dead, and she had remembered that the plague had hit this part of Middle-earth a few years back, decimating the peoples who lived here. He had waved away her apologies with a smile, telling her that it would be good to see them worn once more by such a beautiful woman. Now _that_ had embarrassed her.

She drew Angùrei across her knees, the whetstone whistling along his length as she worked, growing warmer and warmer in the sunlight. She could have picked a cooler spot for this job, she knew, but that would deprive her of one of her favourite pastimes … watching Aldamar at work. He was shearing the sheep today, already hot and sweaty as he wrestled the fluffy creatures to the ground. His bare chest was well muscled, she noticed, feeling her mouth go slightly dry at the sight of those muscles rippling. He must have been able to feel her eyes on him, for he looked up, smiling warmly at her as she nodded to him, a fond smile of her own playing on her lips for the joy she felt in his attention.

As he returned to his work, Laurè allowed herself to feel that little shiver down her spine that always came when he looked at her in such a way. They had grown close over the last three months while they waited for the snow to melt, and for Laurè to make her mind up as to when she was leaving. In fact, he knew her almost as well as Galadriel did, the bad as well as the good, and he had not pushed her away. Laurè knew she should not be feeling this for a Man, but she couldn't help herself, and part of her was shouting at the top of its voice that if this was the only chance for love she would get she should grab it by the horns.

She shook herself, putting the whetstone to one side as she tested the edge with her thumb. Satisfied he was sharp enough, Laurè drew herself to her feet, taking her place in the middle of the courtyard and drawing her blade up before her eyes, to point skywards as she centred herself inward. Her sword practise had been lacking over the last months, and she was taking the opportunity to regain her skill and poise. The exercises took her across the courtyard in a series of graceful steps and lunges as her muscles warmed to the task, before she allowed herself to follow the battle-drum beat that she heard in her own heartbeat, leaping and rolling across the cobbles, Angùrei flashing as he spun this way and that in the sunlight.

She could feel Aldamar watching her; feel his surprise at the grace with which she moved. She knew, from earlier conversations, that he had never seen war or fighting, and that he did not understand the art involved in wielding a sword, though after hearing her speak of it he never denied it was there. But now, she knew he was watching a warrior in action, as she had watched her soldiers as they moved through exercises much like this one, marvelling at the quiet strength and dignity with which they held themselves. This time, however, she found herself eager to impress him, executing moves which would take off someone's hand if pulled off in the middle of a group, but alone made you look frighteningly controlled. She revelled in each gasp of breath that told her of his rapt attention, and each glimpse that showed him leaning on the fence watching her, the sheep forgotten.

Suddenly her movements switched back to the slow, graceful sweeps she had started with, until she was finally back, in the centre of the courtyard, Angùrei held before her pointing skywards. As she turned back to the farmhouse, a warm hand on her elbow made her jump. Aldamar had run across the courtyard to catch her before she went inside.

'That was … amazing,' he said, his eyes shining with fascinated joy. 'Where did you learn to move like that?'

She smiled sadly.

'In war,' she told him. 'You don't need beauty of movement or even grace on a battlefield, but unless you have complete control over yourself, you can be caught unawares.'

He nodded.

'Have you?' he asked. 'Ever been caught unawares?'

Her nod produced an eager smile from him, and she knew what he was going to ask her next. She beat him to it, though; Laurè pulled her shirt down over one shoulder, displaying the first scar she had ever come by, now a thin jagged white line on her fair skin. Aldamar stared at it, his hand lifting hesitantly to brush over the smooth skin. Laurè shivered involuntarily, surprised by how much she wanted him to touch her, just like that, soft and gentle. He was standing so close; she could feel the warmth from his body as he looked down at her, eyes on her scar as his fingers traced its edge. Slowly, his eyes flicked up to hers, holding her paralysed in his gaze with the scorching heat held deep within them as he moved closer, bending down to brush his lips tenderly across hers.

The kiss lasted just a few seconds before she pulled away, common sense screaming in her mind that this was a bad idea. But before she could say anything, Aldamar spoke, and pulled her world out from under her feet.

'Laurè, I …' he breathed, reaching up to caress her cheek gently. 'I think I'm in love with you.'

She shook her head unconvincingly, trying to stop her heart from singing in joy.

'We can't,' she murmured, frightened to say it in case he went away and never returned. 'We're too different, Aldamar. I'm an Elf, you're a Man … I mean, would you mate a pig and a horse?'

He raised an eyebrow, too buoyed up by the moment to listen properly to what she was saying.

'Are you saying I look like a horse?' he smiled.

Laurè's jaw dropped as she groped for humour to get herself out of the painfully sweet situation she found herself in.

'Are _you_ saying I look like a pig?' she demanded, trying to extricate herself from his arms.

Aldamar laughed softly, keeping his hold on her firm but gentle.

'I never said anything, you were the one that brought the animals up,' he told her as she squirmed.

'Excuse me, but you're the one who brings them up, I'm just visiting for a while,' she shot back, her sarcasm taking over as her heart and mind held a boxing match over who was going to be in charge of this part of her life.

Aldamar lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.

'Laurè, this is serious,' he said softly. 'I love you.'

She gave him a defensive look.

'I am being seri-' she began, but didn't finish, cut off by another kiss planted squarely on her lips.

Laurè couldn't stop the tidal wave of emotion crashing into her as she reached up to pull him closer, kissing him with as much fervour as he was kissing her. His hands snaked around her back, almost shyly holding her waist as her free arm curled about his shoulders, and all she was thinking, as she melted into his arms, was that she had finally found something that felt so right it hurt, and it was wonderful.


	9. A Time To Mourn

To anonymous who left the eighth review - Legolas is not the only reason for reading LotR, and even if he does appear later on, it will not be an earth-shaking plot move.

* * *

Chapter Nine – A Time to Mourn 

Laurè closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill from them as the memory of his love filled her heart once more. She remembered the years they had spent together with bittersweet joy. They were the happiest of her life, easily, and yet the most ordinary of her long years in comparison to the deeds she had done in other years. Without quite knowing how, she had fallen deeply in love with Aldamar, and by the end of that first year they had been married, happily settled on his farm. Another couple of years later, and they had two bonny girls crawling around, and generally making their chaotic house even more of a mess.

A wave of longing swept over the she-elf as she stared up at the stars, fighting vainly to keep the grief at bay. Her family … lost to the years as everyone else she had known now was. And she had not thought to tell her friends of her new home, her new life, too caught up in the joy of love and family to think of anyone else. They were the best of times, she thought with a pang, the best of her life.

And then came the night when her old life had caught up with the new …

* * *

Laughter rang through the little house, accompanied by the occasional yelp as one or another of her family knocked into something as they chased after one another. Laurè watched the children with a smile as she washed their dishes in the sink, making silly faces to entertain the baby boy sat gurgling by her feet. She was glad of the distraction; an echo had been playing in her heart and mind for most of the day, a voice that she knew almost as well as her own. Aldamar crashed through the door suddenly, lunging at his daughters and catching them both in his arms as they giggled hysterically. 

'Fee fi fo fum,' he boomed, echoing the game he had often seen Laurè play with them. 'What have I found?'

Aldè threw her arms around his neck, kissing him as her sister wriggled out of his grip and ran to hide behind Laurè's skirts. Aldamar hugged his eldest daughter close, setting her on the floor as he rose to kiss his wife, ruffling the hair of little Ríel as she hugged his leg. Laurè smiled up at her husband, accepting his kiss lovingly.

'Hard day, love?' she asked him.

He shrugged.

'Not really,' he sighed. 'Just lonely without you.'

Laurè laughed.

'Oh, however did you survive?' she teased, turning back to the washing up as he echoed her laughter.

Her eyes lifted to the window, and the laugh died on her lips as she spied a figure standing in the shadows under the oak tree, watching her as she stared. Her hands froze in their task, the plates dropping back into the soapy water as she struggled to calm the sudden wild beating of her heart. She felt Aldamar come up behind her, obviously concerned by her tension. He, too, saw the dark figure, and she felt his protective side come out in full force.

'Laurè, take the children upstairs, and don't come down no matter what you hear,' he told her, moving to rummage for his only weapon, a rather rusty short sword.

'No,' Laurè managed. 'No, I'll go.'

Aldamar turned back to her, his expression stern.

'I won't let you,' he said, catching her arm as she moved to fetch Angùrei.

Laurè raised an eyebrow at him, reminding him with a look that she knew far more about things of this sort than he.

'Let?' she repeated, her tone dangerous. '_You_ keep the children in here; _I'll_ go outside.'

He still looked undecided.

'But –'

She smiled faintly.

'No arguments,' she told him. 'Besides, I think I know who it is.'

He held her gaze a moment longer and backed down, kissing her gently as she dried her hands. She waited until he had gathered the children to him, taking up Angùrei as she slipped from the house to approach the not-so-unfamiliar stranger.

A slight breeze tugged at her hair and clothes as she walked towards the visitor, noting the signs of one of her own; the sheathed bow and quiver of arrows; the leaf buckle on the belt; the light boots; and the leaf of Lothlórien pinning the cloak. She moved until she was standing in front of the visitor, placing Angùrei on the ground at her feet.

'It's been a long time,' she said softly.

Galadriel held her gaze for a long time before answering.

'Do you have any idea how worried I've been?' she said acerbically. 'You disappeared from a battlefield, I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea how much that hurt?'

Laurè said nothing. She had known this would happen someday; she just hadn't realised that Galadriel would come all the way out here to do it herself.

'Look at you,' her friend went on. 'You're disgustingly healthy; you have a family … you have children! And you didn't think to tell me that you were alright?'

She threw her sword onto the ground in impotent anger.

'I grieved for you,' she snapped. 'I spent weeks searching for you, but you had yourself well hidden away, didn't you? And do you know what's even worse?'

Laurè didn't dare speak an answer, knowing it would come no matter what she did.

'Even after everything you've put me through, all the fear and hurt and anger,' Galadriel declared, her face softening, 'I can't be angry with you. Gods, I'm so happy to see you safe!'

She surged forward, hugging Laurè close with something close to a sob of relief. They clung together, laughter mixing with tears as Galadriel forgave her for the years of worry she had caused. Laurè drew her friend inside, introducing her to her husband and children with a proud smile, and watching happily as Galadriel accepted them all without question.

'Are you an Elf too, Galadriel?' Aldè asked her excitedly. 'Like Mama?'

Galadriel smiled indulgently.

'Yes, little one, I am,' she told the rosy-cheeked child. 'I knew your Mama when she was very young. We've been friends for a long time.'

'Hundreds and hundreds of years, I'll bet,' Aldè declared, grinning as Galadriel laughed.

'Longer,' she said. 'Try thousands and thousands.'

As Aldè's jaw dropped incredulously, Ríel pushed forward shyly.

'Mae govannen, Galadriel,' she lisped hesitantly, glancing up at Laurè for encouragement before going on. 'Gîl síla na lû govaded. That means a star shines on the time of our meeting, doesn't it, Mama?'

Laurè nodded, hugging her daughter close as Galadriel looked suitably impressed.

'Well done, honey,' she praised her. 'Well met to you, too.'

Laurè watched happily as Ostoher tugged on her friend's cloak, demanding without words to be lifted into her arms. Aldamar wrapped his arms around his wife, pleased to see her so happy.

'Shall we ask her to stay, love?' he murmured, laughing softly as Ostoher tugged on Galadriel's long hair.

Laurè turned to him, a delighted smile on her face.

'Thank you,' she breathed, rubbing her nose against his tenderly. 'I would love for her to stay for a while.'

That night, once all the family were asleep, the two Elves sat up until morning, talking about anything and everything. Galadriel told Laurè of the uneasy peace that had settled on the lands since the Witchking's defeat, and of the fortunes of Men and Elves in her absence. In her turn, Laurè told her friend of all that had happened to her since they had parted ways, and of the dark paths of her heart she had walked before meeting Aldamar. At this, Galadriel grew serious.

'You do know what you are doing, don't you?' she asked gently.

Laurè's smile faded.

'Yes, I do,' she told her friend.

'He will grow old, and he will die,' Galadriel pressed. 'And your children will also die. If you love him even half as well as you seem to, it will destroy you.'

She leant forward, taking her friend's hand with touching concern.

'I don't want to see that happen to you,' she said softly.

Laurè sighed softly.

'I know,' she said sadly. 'I try not to think of it.'

'You're going to have to think about it, Laurè,' Galadriel told her quietly. 'As the years pass, and he grows old and fades, you will not be able to escape it. You will have to face never changing, never aging, while everyone you love succumbs to the passage of time. Your children do not have the light of the Elves; they will not be given the gift of an immortal life.'

'Yes, I have noticed that, thank you, Ri,' Laurè said harshly. 'I don't like to be reminded of it.'

Galadriel forced her to look into her eyes.

'You have to remember it,' she insisted. 'Because there is nothing you can do to change things. You are set on a path that will break your heart, and I can't stand back and let you do this without making sure you know what will happen.'

Laurè sagged, sorrow filling her face.

'I do know,' she said, her voice miserable. 'And it already hurts to know I will lose them all.'

Galadriel wrapped her arm around her.

'I'm here,' she said encouragingly. 'And I always will be. When the time comes, I will come and find you. You will not go through this on your own.'

Laurè managed a faint smile.

'How will you know?' she asked.

Galadriel grinned and tapped her forehead.

'Hey,' she chuckled. 'It's me.'

* * *

She had been true to her word as well, Laurè remembered; always there when she needed her friend. She had spent many happy years with her family, unchanged as they grew older, her strength undimmed as Aldamar's failed, until that awful year when her world shattered …

* * *

Laurè sat by the window, her heart heavy with grief. Outside the leaves were falling from the trees, decorating the cobbles of the little courtyard with red, gold and brown. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of sickness and decay, heavy with sorrow and despair. Aldamar lay, weak and weary, against the pillows, the rasp of his breathing painful to her ears. They had had eighty laughter-filled years together, but now the laughter had gone, leaving nothing but painful memories as her beloved husband faded before her eyes. Their children sat around them, each feeling keenly the grief that swept through their mother as she watched their father die. They had all grown strong and true, married and had children, and were growing old as their father had, and they knew, that though the ages would pass and the world would change, their mother would remain the same until the day she died. 

She rose to sit with him, seeing her youthful looks as a mockery to his aged form, her smooth skin stark against his wrinkled hands. She still loved him, as deeply as ever before, her heart unchanged by his withering form over the years, though many times he had tried to get her to leave, ashamed to let her see him fade into old age. She had never left his side, and would not, until the moment he slipped into the eternal sleep. And that was a moment she hoped, futilely, would never come.

Aldamar stirred, opening his eyes to look at her, and smiled weakly.

'My beautiful Laurè,' he whispered hoarsely, lifting a hand to stroke her face lovingly. 'I never understood why you stayed.'

She smiled, holding his hand to her cheek with fingers that trembled only slightly.

'I love you,' she told him. 'I always have. Do you not remember my promise? Le meluvan úne ar alya lúmessen tenna nurucilie.'

Aldamar nodded faintly.

'I will love you for better for worse until death do us part,' he translated softly.

'And to that I hold,' she swore, leaning forward to kiss him tenderly.

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

'Even to an old fool like me?' he asked, his voice losing strength with each passing moment.

She laughed.

'Even to an old fool like you,' she promised, gently brushing his white hair from his eyes. 'You know full well I'm much older than you … I shall miss you, my husband.'

He blinked slowly, relaxing back onto the pillows with a sigh.

'If I could wait for you, I would,' he managed, his eyes drifting to the ranks of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren lingering behind her. 'Take care of one another for me.'

Their children nodded in answer, clinging to one another in acute sorrow as their father turned back to his wife.

'And you, my love …' he murmured. 'You must carry on, do what you swore before we ever met … they will need you.'

Laurè swallowed hard against the tears, not wishing his last sight to be that of a weeping woman.

'I will try,' she said softly.

He smiled gently.

'Then I can rest easy, knowing my blood are protected by the woman I love,' he sighed. 'Tenn 'enomentielva, my lo …'

His eyes rolled back suddenly, and a soft groan escaped his lips as the last of his life's strength left his body. Laurè stared at the lifeless form for a long time, listening only vaguely to the wails of her children as they mourned the loss of their father. She leant forward to kiss his forehead gently, a single tear falling onto his lips as she pulled back.

'Namárië, melindonya,' she murmured.

Then, slowly, she rose to her feet, and left the room, walking through the house out into the courtyard. So many memories surrounded her, bombarded her with joy and pain and love, and reminded her of what she had so recently lost. She made it to the orchard before it became too much, and she fell to her knees, sobbing violently with pain and anguish. Gentle arms wrapped about her, holding her tightly against the grief that threatened to swallow her whole. She pulled back, and looked up into Galadriel's understanding eyes.

'He … he's gone,' she sobbed.

Galadriel hugged her close, stroking her hair gently as she rocked her back and forth.

'I know,' she murmured softly. 'I know.'

* * *

Tenn 'enomentielva – Until we meet again 

Namárië, melindonya – Farewell, my love


	10. A Time To Heal

Chapter Ten – A Time to Heal

The soft rain fell lightly on her upturned face, washing away the signs of the tears as Laurè sobbed once more for a love she would never know again. Aldamar had been her light, the driving force behind her continued living, and when he had died, all the despair she had felt before mingled with the biting grief at his loss, driving her to the depths of her soul as she fought to carry on as he had asked her to.

She had left her children that same day, unable to face his funeral, knowing if she stayed, she would spend years putting off her departure just one more day. Galadriel had heard the echo in her heart from miles away, had known the pain almost as if she was living it too. She had drawn Laurè back to Lothlórien, back to the home of her people, where she was enfolded into the collective arms of the Galadhrim with love and understanding. She had discovered friends she had never realised she had, tidings coming from across Middle-earth from those she had known in the years she had lived. These friends went out of their way to fill her days, to keep her from falling into the grief that still hovered on the edge of her existence more than two thousand years later.

She could so easily have slipped into despair and death, if it hadn't been for the determined way Galadriel had pushed at her to stay focused on living her life. And of course, the last promise she made to Aldamar was to keep going, not to give in, and she was not about to break the last promise she made to him. So she had kept going, walking the darkest paths of her soul to come out the other end. She had thrown herself into life, wandering the roads of Middle-earth to keep on top of the bloodlines that would soon culminate in the people she had been waiting for for thousands of years. But even so, it had been a long time before she could smile again.

The One Ring lay quiet for three and a half thousand years, never troubling them with any rumour pertaining to it's whereabouts, until the well-remembered meeting of the Elven Council, where the rulers of all the Elven kingdoms in Middle-earth came to Lothlórien to share news with one another …

* * *

Laurè stood with Galadriel at the edge of the Council Clearing, watching the various rulers of the Elven realms mingling with one another, each reassuringly comfortable with each other. She had already spoken with Cìrdan and Elrond, and had exchanged pleasantries with the others. Gandalf was watching them gather together, leaning comfortably on his staff as he waited for them to begin. They were only waiting for the Mirkwood king and his son to make an appearance before the Council meeting could commence. Laurè, in particular, was looking forward to seeing Thranduil again, and meeting his son for the second time. At least this time around, the young prince would be capable of speaking and walking upright.

They entered the clearing oddly quietly, Thranduil looking old and weary as he nodded to those who noticed him. The young prince, Legolas, walked equally quietly, though it seemed more through nervousness than tiredness. Laurè fairly ran to greet her old friend, hugging him close in friendly delight at seeing him again.

'Laurè, you old rogue, it's good to see you again,' he laughed, patting her back companionably. 'Still stage-managing the world, I see.'

She smiled self-deprecatingly.

'Well, it keeps me busy,' she smiled, including his son in the smile. 'And I see you've had your hands full.'

Legolas bowed solemnly to her, and jumped as she embraced him warmly.

'It's good to see you, too, your highness,' she greeted him, pulling back to hide a laugh at his startled expression. 'The last time I saw you, you were just a tiny baby.'

His blush was endearing, deepening as Galadriel came to join them. He almost fell into a low bow to the Lady of the Golden Wood, who shared a grin with Laurè before pulling him upright to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.

'Mae govannen, Legolas,' she welcomed him, turning to his father with a slightly colder smile. 'Thranduil.'

The king of Mirkwood nodded to her perfunctorily.

'Lady,' he said, his tone proper but barely warm.

For some reason, the two had never taken to one another, but at least they spoke to one another. Celeborn wouldn't even look at Thranduil, let alone spend any amount of time alone with him without insulting him. They didn't agree with the way he ran his kingdom, despite the shadow that fell perpetually over what once was the Greenwood.

With everyone gathered, the Council was brought into order, the various dignitaries taking their seats as all eyes turned to Galadriel, who remained standing, her eyes distant. Laurè smiled faintly to herself, inordinately proud of her friend as she watched Galadriel cast her spell over the rulers of the Elven realms. She watched as she drew her mantle about her, seeming to stand taller beneath the boughs of her beloved mallorn trees. In all their years together, through the hardships and joys, she had never seen her friend look more at home in this world, and she knew why. Here, in Lothlórien, the kingdom she had founded, she was legend and myth, and stunning reality. Her rule was just and kind, and her people loved her, and races across Middle-earth revered her from afar. Her smile had the power to raise a person's spirits into the realms of the Valar, a softly-spoken reprimand could do more than a long loud lecture, and her rarely shown affection could plant hope where hope once was lost. Here, in this place that was hers and hers alone, she was a part of the world around her, ageless beauty and youth that would outlast the civilisations that inhabited the lands.

When she spoke, it seemed that she spoke with the voice of the trees around her, soft and gentle, yet filled with the wisdom of the ages that had passed and the promise of the ages to come.

'The world is changed,' she said, each person feeling that she spoke to them alone. 'I feel it in the water … I feel it in the earth …'

Her gaze passed over each one who watched her, pausing for the slightest of moments on Laurè's eyes, just long enough to acknowledge the imperceptibly encouraging nod before she continued.

'I smell it in the air,' she paused, taking her place before her chair, letting her words sink into the consciousness around her. 'Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.'

She paused again, watching her words make an impact on the hearts and minds gathered around her.

'We are fast approaching a time when the future of all Middle-earth will lie in jeopardy,' she told them, her voice grave. 'Some of us will not be there to see it. The light of the Elves has begun to fade … we must begin to make plans to leave these shores.'

Elrond rose, nodding to his mother-in-law as she took her seat.

'The time has come for us to withdraw from the world,' he said sternly, proving to all and sundry that his was the voice, next to Galadriel's, that commanded the most authority among them. 'We must call our people back to our borders, save those few whose wanderings are necessary.'

At this, his eyes should have fallen on Laurè, sat comfortably between Gandalf and Thranduil, but it was testament to his confidence that he did not even glance in her direction. Instead, his gaze fell on Cìrdan, who squirmed under his scrutiny. Laurè suppressed a smile. She was the one responsible for Cìrdan's scouts becoming common knowledge in the Golden Wood, having run across several of them over the past years in her search for what had now become the creature Gollum.

'I propose that no more than two from each realm, chosen for their skill at tracking, warfare and diplomacy, remain abroad to keep abreast of events as they unfold,' Elrond suggested, though his tone was more commanding than suggestive. 'My sons, Elrohir and Elladan, will be Rivendell's eyes during this time.'

Laurè caught Galadriel's eye and nodded, rising briefly to address the company around her.

'I have chosen to be Lothlórien's eyes and ears,' she told them. 'I am not suited to life within borders, even ones so beautiful as those of Galadriel's realm.'

Her impish smile was echoed by those sat around, since they all knew she had not remained in one place for more than a few years since her time as a wife and mother.

'As the only one among us with the experience to know exactly what we are looking for, may I put the Lady Laurè forward as the leader of these unofficial scouts?' Thranduil said quietly, and Laurè felt her heart sink as the collected rulers all agreed with him.

Galadriel was having difficulty hiding a smile at the look on her face; no doubt Laurè's gentle smile had become a pained grimace at the thought of being directly responsible for others for the next two hundred or so years. She had studiously managed to avoid all positions of authority for thousands of years, and now one of her oldest friends was forcing one on her, knowing full well how much she would resent it. Oh, she couldn't deny that she was the best qualified for such a position, but the last thing she wanted was to be worrying about even more people. She had her head full worrying about those that hadn't yet been born, let alone those who should know how to look after themselves, but who would, without question, come to her before doing anything, despite knowing what to do for themselves.

'Thank you _so _much for that, Thran,' she muttered, her lips barely moving.

The king of Mirkwood didn't even try to hide his smile.

'It's about time you did things with others,' he murmured, nodding his assent to his own idea as the proposition was put to vote. 'Stop hiding yourself away from us, Laurè. We need you almost as much as we need Galadriel.'

Laurè rolled her eyes, stifling a laugh as Galadriel spoke in her mind, proving herself to have been eavesdropping.

'_If only he knew the truth, hmmm?'_

Laurè shot her own thought back at her friend.

'_Hurry them up, would you? I don't want to end up being granted a kingdom of my own, thank you very much.'_

'_But you'd be so good at it –'_

'_Don't push it, Ri.'_

Galadriel sent her a significant look across the circle, but rose obediently, and began to call attention back to herself.

'We have other matters to attend to,' she told them. 'Laurè has news that may alarm some of you greatly.'

She nodded to Laurè, taking her seat once more as her friend rose, surveying the gathered dignitaries with more than a little trepidation. Her news would more than alarm them.

'The One Ring has come to light once more,' she said bluntly, ignoring the sudden shouts of dismay that rang across the clearing. 'We have been aware for some time that it was not as lost as people would like to think. There is no need to be alarmed, for the hands it has fallen into are led by a small and petty mind, one that is not capable of looking after himself, let alone lead armies against us.'

She didn't need to see Gandalf to know that he had frowned and passed his hand across his forehead. She stifled her smile at his very predictable reaction, seeing a similar smile suppressed by those who knew him.

'I was sent in search of the One Ring some two hundred or so years back,' she continued. 'I followed the echoes we have all felt, but it took me years to find where it lay. When I reached the riverbank where it must have lain in secret and silence for thousands of years, I found I was already too late. There is a village of Stoors there, small river folk who look no further than what the river can give them, and led by a matriarch far more fearsome than our own Galadriel in her own way.'

She paused, remembering with guilt what she had found there.

'There was a body …' she managed, swallowing against the grief at such a young life cut short. 'A young Stoor lad, strangled and hidden in the weeds, and rumours of mischief at the hands of another young lad. There were tales of invisible hands stealing what wasn't theirs, and knowledge being shared where it could never have been heard. When I reached the village, I was obliged to hide myself. There was some commotion outside the main burrow, and when I drew closer, I discovered that one of the young grandsons was being run off as the cause of all the evil happenings in the village. His name was Smeagol, and he spent a great deal of time muttering about his 'birthday present'. I have since come to know that this birthday present is the One Ring, and he murdered his cousin, Deagol, when they quarrelled over it. Deagol was the boy I found dead by the river.'

She stopped, fighting to push the conflicting emotions back in her heart. She could feel Celeborn's eyes on her, and not wishing to see the concern reflected in them, looked away, at the faces of the others, all of whom were watching her, eager to hear what else she had to tell them. Galadriel's familiar touch enveloped her mind, drawing away all the guilt and anger and pain at what she had seen until there were only the memories. She lifted her eyes to her friend, ever grateful as the wealth of emotion she had been feeling looked back at her from Galadriel's eyes. She looked up, centred once more, and continued with her narration.

'After that, I lost the trail for a long time, but I finally found him again a little over fifty years later,' she told them. 'He is … changed. All I can think of is that the Ring is somehow extending his life, but at a great cost. He is no longer recognisable as the Stoor boy who was run out of his home two hundred years ago. He is a balding, slimy creature, with huge eyes that glow green in a certain light. He is more at home in water than on land; he hunts the unwary goblins that share his home in the caves under the Misty Mountains. The One Ring is slowly consuming him. He hates it, and loves it, as he hates and loves himself. He no longer thinks of anything but the Ring and his own survival. Nothing can be done to save him now; if he gives up the Ring, his advanced years will kill him, but I do not think he would give it up. It has chosen him for a reason, and until it suits it, he will carry the Bane of Middle-earth no matter what befalls him.'

She watched this sink in as she took her seat once more, her part in the day's proceedings over, and tuned out, letting the following debate wash over her like so much fresh rainwater. She knew how this would go; she and Galadriel had carefully worked out how they would steer their companions towards the result they needed from this meeting, namely that nothing would be done about Gollum, or the One Ring, and that Laurè would be solely responsible for keeping track of his whereabouts. They had already arranged that Gandalf would enter the lair of the Necromancer in search of Thrain, the Dwarven king who had gone missing some years previously, and who had in his possession the key to the halls under the Lonely Mountain.

Everything was set up for the years to come, but all Laurè could think about was time. Where had all their time gone? It seemed only yesterday that they had had thousands of years in which to plan and prepare for the years that were even now creeping up on them, and now they had no time left to them. Events were falling into place all around them, and _she had no time left_. There was a momentum in this that she had never predicted would be there, and she was as caught up in it as all the people she was trying to save. She sighed, catching Galadriel's eye across the clearing, and knew that her friend was thinking exactly the same thing. Where had all the time gone?

* * *

In the pre-dawn twilight, Laurè smiled bitterly to herself. It was a good question, she thought, feeling once more those precious months slipping through her fingers. She had no more control over what was coming; she would have to stand by and wait, and watch as thousands died to preserve what she had spent her life protecting.

She had spent the next two hundred years directing her little troupe of scouts, sending them to all the corners of Middle-earth to keep her informed of the bloodlines that were coming through. Only a close few were told why these bloodlines were so important; not Legolas, certainly, but Elladan and his brother were told enough that they kept a close eye on the Dunédain and the young family of Arathorn, heir of Isildur. When he was killed, the brothers took his wife and infant son to Imladris, to their father, where the boy, Aragorn, was raised by the stern Half-Elven Lord, and trained in the ways of his people. Others she sent into the world of Men, to tell her of the worrying developments in the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan. In such a way, she was aware of Wormtongue long before he was bought by Saruman, and knew of Denethor and his sons from afar.

She herself spent a long time wandering from place to place, personally checking on the Hobbits and Dwarves. When Gandalf took Bilbo off to join the quest to retake the Lonely Mountain, she had met the young Hobbit in Elrond's house as they passed through, and had found herself quietly impressed with the strength of will hiding inside the coward's exterior he showed to the world. But she was also there when he passed through again, on his way home, and had been greatly saddened to see the mark of the Ring upon the little man. Elrond had tried to comfort her in the hours following their departure, but there was only one person who had any hope of comforting her, and she was many miles away in her own kingdom.

The years passed quickly, every one of them on the alert for the event that would send them all cascading into chaos. Then she received a message from Gandalf that sent her on a wild trek into the lands of the North, in search of one who had to be in place at the sign of the Prancing Pony …

* * *

The rain swept around her, soaking her to the bone as she fought through the wilds. She knew they were watching her, she could feel their eyes on her as she battled through the elements. It was only a matter of time before they challenged her, out here in the wildest part of their world. The Dunédain were known as the greatest skilled Men at tracking and hunting, living the ways of the wild, and Laurè was well aware of their reputation, just as she was well aware of the eyes on her. She was being hunted, and she didn't like it much.

Eventually, she grew tired of it, and stopped, slapping wet hands to her sides and ignoring the splash that they made against her leggings. She stared around her at the brush and rock, her expression decidedly unpleasant.

'I know you're there,' she said, knowing they would hear her. 'Come out, and show yourselves.'

She didn't have long to wait. As she waited there, in the pouring rain, the very landscape itself began to sprout cloaked and hooded figures, all very obviously armed, and all very wary of her, a lone Elf walking openly where none had been seen in many years. Moving slowly, her movements gentle, she lifted her cloak away from Angùrei, unbuckling her sword belt and letting it fall to the sodden earth by her feet, as well as divesting herself of the various daggers and dirks hidden about her person. They watched her, two coming forward to collect her weapons as she stepped away from them.

'I seek the heir of Isildur,' she told them, casting her eye warily from face to face. 'I am Laurè, of Lothlórien, and I am sent by Gandalf the Grey to ask a boon of him.'

A tall dark man stepped forward, bowing slightly to her.

'Well met, Laurè of Lothlórien,' he welcomed her. 'Even here, we have heard of you. The man you seek has gone from these lands. He is in the resting place of his mother, and the home of your kinsman, Elrond Half-Elven.'

Laurè just about managed to stifle a curse.

'You mean I've been wandering around here in search of someone who arrived at my resting place shortly after I left?' she asked harshly, ignoring the look of faint amusement on the speaker's face. 'Well then, I thank you for your time. May I retrieve my weapons and make my way from your lands?'

He bowed to her, nodding to his companions.

'We will accompany you the shortest way, my lady,' he offered, gesturing for her to walk with him, as he brushed past.

The Dunédain escorted her through the harshest corners of their land, through marsh and plain and high rocky mountains, until at last she looked upon the Last Homely House with tired eyes, and a spirit all but beaten by the wilds she had walked. But as she descended into the lands of her people, her spirit lifted and her step lightened. She turned to thank her guides, but they were gone, melted away into the darkness and shadows of the mountain. A shout from the hall below her drew her eyes back to the steps, where a familiar dark haired figure was waving excitedly at the sight of her.

Arwen threw herself into her arms, laughing for joy at seeing her grandmother's old friend safe once again. Laurè held her gently, her heart aching for the sorrow this bright vibrant spirit would suffer in the years to come, when her man aged and died, and left her to endure the years she had left without the comfort of his presence. She knew all too well what awaited Elrond's daughter, and longed to spare her the hurt that was coming, but she knew also that it must be.

'I sent word after you, lady,' the dark haired she-elf told her, drawing her towards the gardens. 'He arrived a day after you left, and it has taken all my power of persuasion to convince him not to go looking for you, for I knew he would miss you as you missed him.'

She looked into Laurè's eyes, seeing the urgency within them.

'I see by your face this news you carry is important,' she murmured. 'It is time then?'

Laurè nodded reluctantly, gripping the young elf's shoulders in sympathy.

'It has begun,' she told her gently. 'I must speak with him.'

Arwen's face fell, and Laurè knew she could feel the miles stretching out ahead of her love, and the danger held within them. She knew also that representatives of the Races had begun to arrive at Elrond's house in preparation of the Council that had been called some months earlier. But for that Council to go ahead, she had to get certain people here, and to do that, she had to find their guide. Arwen sighed softly, shaking her head to clear the dark vision filling her mind.

'He is at his mother's graveside,' she told her. 'He will be pleased to see you.'

Laurè nodded, squeezing Arwen's shoulders one more time before striding in search of the one she had come for. She found him, as Arwen had said, kneeling before the grave of his mother, Gilraen. His weapons lay beside him, and he was dressed for travel. Undoubtedly Elrond had told him she was coming for him. She made no attempt to conceal her approach, not wishing to interrupt so intimate a moment between himself and his mother's memory. But he heard her, and rose to greet her, a grim smile on his weather-beaten face. She knelt, inclining her head to him as she rose to her feet once more.

'I greet you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn and Gilraen,' she said softly, adding gently, 'heir of Isildur, and heir of Gondor.'

He shook his head, giving her a look she had come to know very well in the years she had known him. It was a look that told her he was no nearer to accepting his fate than his father had been, or his father before him. He did not believe that in the weakness of his blood there lay his strength, nor would he, until that strength was put to the test.

'And I, you, lady,' he replied, gathering his weapons. 'What would you have me do?'

Despite herself, Laurè smiled at his willingness to serve her, even without knowing what it was she would ask of him.

'It is not just I who ask it of you,' she warned him. 'A dear friend to both of us, who even now stands in peril, has sent word to me that he cannot complete the task that was given to him.'

Aragorn frowned.

'Gandalf is in danger?' he asked, stepping forward in concern.

'There is nothing we can do to help him,' she told him, raising a hand to prevent his protest. 'He will join us here, I promise you. But you must collect those who wait for him at the sign of the Prancing Pony in Bree. They will need safe guidance here, to Elrond's house.'

'What is so special about these few?' he asked, and Laurè knew she would have to tell him what she could.

'They are Hobbits, four of them, led by one who will go by the name of Underhill,' she said. 'His true name is Frodo Baggins – yes, he is Bilbo's nephew – and he carries the Bane of Middle-earth. He carries the One Ring, Estel. He will need all the help you can give him.'

Aragorn nodded slowly, buckling his belt securely.

'Then I will go to them,' he said softly. 'I will being them safely here.'

She watched him walk past, already certain of his task.

'I will have Glorfindel watch for you,' she called after him. 'The Nine will hunt you.'

He did not glance back.

'I do not fear them,' he answered, 'only the fate they will bring to those who were once my people.'

Laurè watched him go with a heavy heart, knowing that if he set a foot wrong, she had sent him to his doom.


	11. A Time to Keep

Very short, I know, but this is my last post, guys. It's all over!

* * *

Chapter Eleven – A Time to Keep

The warm of the dawn shone gently on her face as she raised her eyes to the rising sun, finding hope within the golden rays as they illuminated the rising of the household around her. Time was running out; she could feel it slipping away as she waited for the summons. Today the Council would meet … today the fate of Middle-earth would be decided. And her part in this future would be all but ended. She had every intention of being there when they reached Lothlórien, and of standing with the Men of Rohan at Helm's Deep. She longed for the anonymity of battle, where she might once again be just a soldier, and not be blamed should she fall beneath an enemy blade. Her promise to her beloved Aldamar would not be broken should such a fate await her, and she would join him in the heavens with a light heart.

Laurè looked down at her hands, ignoring the stab of pain from her thigh, where the Morgul blade had struck so very long ago. She could still feel the taint upon her hands from tending another such wound, in the shoulder of a lad who should have succumbed to the power of the shadow world, and yet had the fortitude to survive until Elven hands could heal him. She had not the heart to tell him of the burden his wound had set upon him, not when the gratitude in his eyes had burned so brightly as she sat at his side in Gandalf's place. The wizard had been here when Frodo arrived, and had sat by his bedside for four nights until the boy woke. She had then taken his place, sending the wizard instead to his own rest, for his trials had been hard for him to bear. The treachery of Saruman cut deep, though she had known it was coming. But the time for regret was past.

This night she had remembered herself, the meaning of her path as she walked the lonely road of duty, to everlasting death. How she longed for it. As Niamh, she had known nothing of life, and so could not do anything but fear death that would take it from her. As Laurèneial, she had known life and death, battle and peace, and the pain of loss muted by years, and yet she had still feared the final sleep. And as Laurè, the warrior maid, Mistress Fleetfoot, Windsinger, she had had her fill of life. The loss of friends and others weighed heavily on her heart; she had seen too much to sleep peacefully any longer. No matter how she loved this world she had made her own, it had hardened her, hurt her, given her little but grief. Her part in this was over, she knew, and her time would come swiftly. This night, the pages she had gathered together of her life would know no more ink. They would stand as a remembrance of the work generations had put in to bring them to this point. From here on in, it fell to someone else to record the happenings of this new world, and the people within it.

Footsteps behind her shook her from her memories, and she turned, smiling sadly to see Elrond in all his finery. He echoed the sorrowful smile, inclining his head to her.

'My lady,' he greeted her. 'It is time.'

Laurè nodded, rising from her seat on the stone balcony to join him as he made his way down the to where the Council waited. Her robe hung about her in stately folds, her hair shining in the morning sunlight. She looked more of a princess than a warrior this day, and with good reason. Her fight would soon be over, and she wished those who would to remember her peacefully, with dignity and pride. She moved with deliberation, greeting those she saw with a gentle smile as she took her seat at Elrond's right hand. The fate of Middle-earth now lay in the hands of those sat around her, and she knew they would not steer her beloved homeland wrong. The Great Council of Middle-earth had begun.


	12. Epilogue: A Time To Say Goodbye

Epilogue – A Time To Say Goodbye

Galadriel sighed softly, laying down the thick parchment with a gentle smile. It was all here, she thought; everything they had done, even things she had not known about until now … all written and recorded as Laurè had sworn it would be. She glanced out of the window at the golden mallorn trees, breathing in the sweet fragrance of her beloved home. Soon, she would leave it, to enter the Undying Lands with the other Ringbearers to begin anew and prepare for her husband to join her. It was too painful to stay here any longer.

Great tears formed in her eyes as she recalled the final days of her closest and dearest friend. Laurè had ridden hard to tell her of the victory over Sauron, and had been cajoled into returning to Gondor with them to give Arwen to the man she had loved for so long. But in those days following the wedding, Galadriel had watched her friend grow heartsick and melancholy, too lethargic to even raise a smile. They had escorted her home, to Lothlórien, everyone in the party concerned for her as she rode slumped and silent beside them. She had retired to her room when they had arrived, and no one had heard a thing from her for two days. When, finally, she could bear the silence no longer, Galadriel had mounted the steps to her friend's room, entering with no little fear of what she might find.

Laurè lay on the bed, her pale blonde hair spread around her head like a halo as it caressed her shoulders and sides. Her shift was of the purest white, untouched by the grime that usually covered the warrior-maid. Her hands, once white and soft, now callused and hard, lay clasped gently against her stomach, cold to the touch as the Lady of the Golden Wood reached out to her dear friend. Galadriel's eyes had closed in denial of what she saw, her knees had buckled at the sight, and she herself was discovered, hours later, kneeling beside the body of Laurè of Lothlórien sobbing bitterly into her friend's blankets. Celeborn had taken her gently to one side, his eyes full of the same bitter grief and abiding sadness as he took his sorrowing wife into his arms to try and comfort her for what she had lost.

Laurè still lay upon the bed, now decked in a gown of deep green, her bow and arrows by her side, Angùrei resting in her hands, as she waited to be committed on her final journey. Galadriel sat at her friend's desk, only feet from her, looking through the papers her friend had gathered and written in her long life. She had found the account of the Change and their subsequent lives quite by accident, and now, as she opened a drawer to replace it, a folded parchment caught her eye. Her name was written in that well-loved neat hand, and she opened it with trembling fingers.

'My dearest Galadriel,' she read, 'Gods, that sounds formal, doesn't it? Not like me at all … anyway, Ria, we've known one another for an unbelievably long time, and if you're reading this, then I've done the incredibly selfish thing and left you to cope all alone. If I'm not dead, what on earth are you doing rifling through my things?'

Despite herself, Galadriel laughed, hearing her friend's sarcastic tone in the familiar letter. She read on, half-afraid to know what prompted such a letter to be written in the first place.

'I've seen a lot in this life, and not much of it was good. I have never stopped grieving, from the moment I left my family, through everything that has happened since. I remember every face and name I have hurt, I recall each circumstance of death or misfortune I have caused, and I cannot begin to tell you how that hurts. My family, my friends, my husband, my children … apart from you and Celeborn, everyone I have ever loved has died, leaving me behind to face all this alone. And I have been alone; even Aldamar knew that.'

A lump caught in Galadriel's throat as she nodded to herself. No amount of companionship or love had ever been able to fill the gaping hole in her friend's heart left by the loss of her family all those thousands of years ago.

'I cannot blame anyone but myself for the aching inside me. It was my decision to leave them, and it has always been my way to be as stubborn as possible about things I know will hurt, but for a short time, took the pain away. Every loss and tear has been my own fault, and I fully accept the responsibility. The only trouble is, it all adds up.'

The room was completely silent; even the birds in the trees outside had stopped their singing as the golden-haired ruler stared at the page in her hand.

'I can't go with you to the Undying Lands, my friend. I would only bring you down. The truth is, I can't live with the pain inside me any longer. I can't spend eternity pushing away the sorrow, waiting for that elusive day when I might be able to grieve for all I have lost. I gave up everything for this world, and now I have nothing but my love for you left. You have been closer than a sister to me, and I thank you for it. You are the best thing in my life, Ria, and I am sorry to leave you, but you are not alone. You never have been. You have a husband who adores you, grandchildren who worship you, and I know you will find Celebrían again once you land in the West. Live long, sister, and be happy. And know that even if you can't see me, I'm right behind you, always.'

Galadriel swallowed hard, lifting shaking hands to her eyes to wipe away the tears that had fallen freely down alabaster cheeks in response to the unbridled love she could feel had written that letter. On unsteady feet, she stumbled to the bed, kneeling beside it once more to place a soft kiss on the cold forehead.

'Be at peace, Niamh,' she whispered. 'I'll remember you … always.'


End file.
